Leon S. Kennedy and the Red Exiles

Eastern Slav Republic

The once-existent country quietly vanished from maps and records.

With the end of the civil war, the authoritarian regime collapsed, and President Svetlana Belikova's name became a relic of the past as a "ruthless dictator."

But she lived on.

It was the season of the white nights in a small country near Northern Europe.

In a room in an old monastery, Belikova was carefully burning some documents.

On the edge of the charred paper was the logo of a biological weapons company.

Remnants of research she had been involved in in the former Eastern Slav Republic.

And now, she sensed those seeking it closing in on her.

Her exile had been protected by certain Western agencies on the condition of "silence and information."

But the time for that silence to be broken was approaching.

"The details of the mission remain confidential."

Leon S. Kennedy said just that as he left the briefing room.

A port town in a certain European country, not a NATO member.

His objective was to recover B.O.W.-related documents stolen by an armed group and uncover any state-level involvement behind the scenes.

However, even he himself was not informed of any further details.

The mission was politically extremely sensitive.

That much was apparent from the heavy tone of his superiors.

"...Another rotten diplomatic mess, huh?"

Leon sighed sarcastically and disappeared into the darkness.

The next morning, the designated location for contact with the informant was the former site of a bookstore in the old town.

It was just as Leon descended the dimly lit stairs and stepped into the underground archives.

"...You haven't changed. Your gun is still as sloppy as ever."

Leon's fingers froze at the sound of the voice.

He quickly turned around and pointed his gun in that direction.

But there he was, a woman in a black coat.

She had cold eyes and a beautiful face.

And that intimidating presence was somehow nostalgic.

"...Velikova?"

"Former President, to be exact. Now just an exile, Leon S. Kennedy."

Sparkling silence.

Leon's hands were trembling slightly, and it wasn't because of the cold.

[newpage]

In the dim light of the underground archives, Leon and Svetlana faced each other.

His gun was still aimed, but his finger had already relaxed from the trigger.

"...I thought you were dead."

Leon's voice was low, hushed.

"That would have been better for the world."

Svetlana shrugged and slowly removed her hood.

Her sharp, beautiful features were still those of the "Iron Queen" who once struck fear into the hearts of the Eastern Slavic people.

"You're here, so that means NATO is trying to use me. Or maybe they're going to get rid of me."

"I'm still trying to decide."

Leon lowered his gun. He took a step closer to her.

"But something's wrong. The fact that you've gone out of your way to contact me like this is not normal."

"Normal?"

Svetlana smiled faintly. But it wasn't what you'd call a smile.

"You still believe in your country, don't you?"

His words stung.

At that moment, Leon's hand moved.

"That's right. I've been betrayed every time I trusted. So... there's one thing I want to confirm."

He clenched his fist and closed the distance between him and Svetlana.

"...What?"

"I want to know if you're still a 'woman who can fight.'"

His fist was aimed straight at Svetlana's face.

In that instant, she leaned back and struck her with a palm strike. There was a sound like the air was shattering.

The next moment, the two were colliding in silence in the cramped library.

There was no mercy.

Leon's back slammed into the wooden desk.

Bearing the pain, he grabbed Svetlana's arm and attempted a toppling move, but she used the opportunity to turn around and turn away.

"Are you seriously trying to kill me?"

"If I didn't, you wouldn't believe my words, would you?"

Leon's eyes sharpened.

The next blow was a spinning kick.

It grazed Svetlana's thigh, momentarily throwing her off balance.

Taking advantage of that, Leon went behind her and grabbed her arm to restrain her, but

"Too late."

A voice whispered in his ear, and at the same time, he was thrown to the floor.

The impact took his breath away.

But before he felt the pain, he found himself nearly bursting out laughing.

"Hey, why did this happen?"

Svetlana stood, catching her breath. There was a red mark on her cheek.

Leon's fist had grazed hers.

"You think I approached you as a woman?"

She said coldly, but a faint hint of color flickered in her eyes.

Leon, still lying on the floor, looked up at her.

He then quietly muttered.

"No. I reacted as a man. And that's what bothers me."

There was a moment of silence.

Svetlana then averted her gaze and spoke as if by the wind.

"I'll tell you tonight. Not everything, though. Just to you."

There was a definite tremor in her voice.

A room in a makeshift hideout in an old Western-style mansion in the suburbs.

Leon rested his elbows on the table.

The room was lit by an old lamp, and their shadows swayed against the wall.

Sitting in the chair opposite him was Svetlana Belikova.

The amber liquid sloshed in the glass, but no one touched it.

"So...So? What do you know now, and what are you hiding from me?"

Svetlana slowly crossed her legs in response to Leon's question.

Her posture was as graceful as a queen, and her voice was as emotionless as ever.

"But first, how much do you 'believe' in my words, in my existence?"

"I act on evidence. Anyone can speak justice with words alone."

"That's why I called you...a man named Leon S. Kennedy."

When she called his name, it seemed like her tone of voice changed slightly.

But Leon's expression remained unchanged. He just continued speaking.

"So, let me see what you're carrying."

Svetlana stood up after a pause at Leon's words.

Svetlana turned away without a word and slowly moved her hands.

She unbuttoned her coat and let it slide to the floor.

Next, she touched the buttons of her blouse with her fingertips.

Leon's eyebrows twitched slightly at her movement.

She silently unbuttoned her blouse, revealing her slender shoulders, and seemed almost inviting.

(...What's this?)

His guard rose.

In this situation, a woman quietly began to undress in front of him.

And it was Svetlana Belikova...the country's former female president, a woman who used every means to manipulate others.

(Could it be...seduction? No, she wasn't that simple.)

Leon's hand unconsciously went to his holster at his waist.

He didn't draw his gun. But his body was reacting.

"...I'll give you a word of advice. I'm not very immune to seduction."

Svetlana's mouth twitched slightly at the low, joking words.

But she didn't turn around, and said quietly.

"Don't worry. You won't need such cheap tricks."

Then...she pulled down the back of her blouse, revealing her pale skin and the marks of interrogation.

Leon's breathing stopped for a moment.

Scars that looked like burns, cuts from a sharp blade.

They were like a record of her beliefs and humiliation.

"...I was tortured after the fall of the regime. I was sold to our allies and taken to an underground Russian facility to 'see if I could talk.'"

There was neither sex appeal nor seduction in her voice. Just pain, quietly present.

For a moment, Leon realized how foolish his previous thoughts were.

It wasn't seduction.

This woman...was exposing everything about herself.

"...Why did you show me that?"

"I wanted to see how much of 'reality' you could accept."

She adjusted her blouse and stood up straight again.

As she returned to her queenly form, the memory of the scars still seemed to linger.

Svetlana looked at him in the mirror as she adjusted the collar of her blouse.

"If you still see me as an 'enemy,' then your choice is correct. ...But if you think I'm 'worth trusting,' then that decision is also your own responsibility."

Leon was speechless for a moment.

She presented his past not as a sign of 'weakness,' but as 'evidence to make a choice.'

It was as calm as an order, yet somehow fragile...

Leon didn't look away.

"...I guess there's no justice left in this country."

"The more we crave justice, the less pure we humans are."

They both laughed. But it didn't quite turn into a wry smile.

"...You're a sly woman, aren't you?"

"Yes. I'm always the woman who manipulates the world."

There was still no contact or tenderness between the two of them.

But that night, something quietly began to change within Leon.

Svetlana Belikova.

He could no longer call this woman a mere refugee or a ghost from the past.

[newpage]

Eastern Slav Republic, District 9, abandoned factory.

Once a base for virus experiments, people were once again secretly coming and going.

That night.

The sound of Leon's boots echoed quietly in the dim light.

One hand held a suppressed handgun, the other traced the edge of the wall as he walked.

"If Belikova's information is correct, there should still be research materials left in this facility..."

Just after he muttered this under his breath,

"Welcome, traitor."

A voice rang from the darkness, accompanied by a flashbang.

"Damn it!"

The moment his vision burned white, Leon instinctively ducked and rolled into cover.

His ears rang, and he heard multiple footsteps approaching.

(Did the information leak...? Or...it was her...)

Svetlana's face flashed through his mind.

But as if to interrupt his thoughts, gunfire broke out. Sparks bounced off the steel.

"Leon Kennedy. Your justice ends here!"

The gunfire stopped. Instead, footsteps approached.

Leon rose to his feet and knelt on one knee, trying to read the enemy's movements.

--Then, he heard another set of footsteps. The sound of heels.

"Can't you stand?"

The moment a familiar female voice rang out, smoke was emitted from behind the cover.

In an instant, my vision became cloudy.

"Hey, you can't be--"

"I'll choose a more interesting setting to kill you."

Then, Svetlana appeared behind me and silenced one of the enemies with a dagger.

Her movements were graceful and unwavering.

"...I thought you betrayed me."

Leon said from within the smoke.

Svetlana responded in a calm voice.

"That's an obvious assumption. I was also prepared for you to shoot me first."

"...At the very least, that's fair."

They took positions, leaning their backs against each other.

They sensed the presence of three remaining enemies. However, the smoke and confusion had created a momentary gap.

"They're coming around from the left. You'll be the decoy."

"That commanding tone is still there."

"I like that. ... Show me you survive."

Leon took off.

Svetlana smiled slightly as she watched him leave.

(...A foolish, straightforward man, and that's what makes him so easy to deal with.)

But just a moment later,

A bullet grazed her shoulder, and she instinctively ducked.

"We couldn't let our guard down..."

She, too, wasn't used to having someone rely on her.

But for that night, she trusted Leon.

Five minutes later, the gunfight ended.

Both of them had only minor injuries.

But the tension was etched deep into their skin.

"So? Do you have more reasons to trust me?"

Svetlana let out a sigh in response to Leon's question.

"It's still not enough. Not enough to entrust my life to."

"That's fine. I thought so too."

Nothing had yet been built between the two of them.

But that night, the flames of cooperation were certainly lit.

Then he slowly turned to Svetlana and said quietly.

"...If that's what you really want, I'll go along with it."

"Do you trust me?"

"...Not that I don't. But I entrusted my back to you on the battlefield. It's surprising how few reasons there are for greater trust."

A moment of silence fell between the two of them.

But that silence wasn't cold.

It was proof of a strange alliance between two people who chose to "walk together" without "trusting" each other.

An underground facility in the former testing area of the Eastern Slav Republic.

The sounds of drainage, rusty pipes, and crumbling brick walls drown out Leon and Svetlana's intrusion.

"It's like a scene from a zombie movie. How long has this facility been abandoned?"

"Six years. It was officially closed, but the experiments continued. The budget supposedly vanished."

"This place is rotten."

The two proceeded cautiously, quietly eliminating several guards.

But as they passed through the final room, a gunshot rang out from behind.

Bang!

As Leon pulled Svetlana towards him, a bullet grazed her shoulder.

The counterattack was instantaneous. As her enemy collapsed to the floor, Svetlana silently clutched her shoulder.

"...Let's go. We still have a way to go."

"Don't move. You're bleeding. You were shot."

"It was just a graze. It wasn't a fatal wound."

But Leon silently took her arm.

And then, quietly, he said.

"...Let's retreat for now. We can't push ourselves too hard. Isn't that right, 'former' president?"

Svetlana looked at him sharply for a moment,

then let out a faint sigh and silently nodded.

The two of them returned to their room in the abandoned hotel.

Leon lit the lantern and picked up his medical equipment. Svetlana sat down and buttoned her shirt.

"I'll do it. I don't really like having people look at me."

"I don't mind. It's part of the job."

Leon smiled wryly as he slowly undressed her shoulders.

And once again, he was at a loss for words.

Old scars, layered across her back, covered her entire body.

Lines that looked like they were burned. Countless cuts made with a sharp blade.

And like the marks of restraints, scars dug into the same place, symmetrically remaining on both sides.

"...Russia?"

Leon asked softly, and Svetlana nodded silently.

"For the first three days of my confinement, I was told: Don't talk, don't scream, and don't refuse.

From the fourth day, it seems they changed their motives. They were testing what would break me, and how."

Leon silently applied the gauze to her, lowering his eyes.

"Are you surprised? To think that the back of someone called the President would be burned so badly?"

"...No. On the contrary, I'm more surprised that you weren't broken."

Svetlana let out a sigh and shrugged her head.

"I'm broken. That's why I'm here. Because it's much easier to help with revenge than to protect my country."

"No."

Leon slowly raised his head as he wrapped the bandages around him.

"You're not broken. If you were, you wouldn't have abandoned me then. You took the trouble to pull me up and get into the enemy's camp. That proves you still haven't given up on me."

"...Shut up. That's a bad habit of American men."

"You just don't like being told the truth."

She shrugged slightly, then adjusted her shirt over the bandages.

"...Thank you. You're quite kind."

"Were you surprised?"

"Yes. Because I'm a man who looks good with a gun."

Leon stood up in silence.

Outside the window, the night fog was beginning to thicken once again.

"...Looks like we'll have to go head-on tomorrow. We're running out of time. Get some rest while you can."

"You too."

Their gazes met for a moment.

It wasn't yet trust. But

it was a quiet "agreement" worth entrusting their lives to.

[newpage]

The cold night air blew in particularly strongly through the crack in the window.

After wrapping the bandages around her bare back, Leon silently took a step back.

"...Should I put this on? My shirt."

He placed a white shirt on the edge of the bed.

But Svetlana didn't reach out for it; she just sat there, her back straight.

"Wait a moment. The breeze feels nice."

"...Don't act tough. I'm just cold."

"...Maybe. But for now, I want to stay like this.

...It feels like you're looking at something other than a scar for the first time in a while."

Leon silently averted his gaze.

The pale light of the lantern cast quiet shadows across her bare skin.

Scorched scars and the smooth outline of a woman.

A body that embodied both the qualities of a warrior and a woman.

"...Why did you cling to your country so much?"

Leon said quietly, but sharply.

"You glared down on me like a queen...and even sacrificed your people to protect your throne.

What exactly did you want?"

Svetlana's eyes slowly turned toward Leon.

"...What did you want? Hehe, you're asking now, aren't you?"

"I still don't trust you. But since we're going to hell together, I want to know what you're really thinking."

Silence fell.

For a moment, Svetlana closed her eyes and shook her shoulders slightly.

It was as if she had touched a distant memory.

"...I was tortured. In a dark Russian room. They took pleasure in the fact that I was a woman. They were only testing how far their control could trample on my dignity."

"..."

"Striped naked, beaten, tied with rope... They called me a 'bitch' instead of my name. He couldn't even move a finger, and they laughed at the 'revolution' my father believed in."

A cold silence permeated her words.

Not anger or tears, but cold pride... something that had already been frozen and shattered many times.

"My father ran an underground newspaper. He was killed trying to tell the people the truth. My mother taught me how to use a gun as a child, telling me to 'follow his lead.'"

Leon stared intently at Svetlana.

Despite her wounds, she stood tall, still holding on to her pride, and something about her was irresistible.

"I wanted to change my country, even if it meant giving up my womanhood. I gave up my dress and put on a military uniform, gave up public speaking and took up a gun. But... what's left in the end is ironic, isn't it?"

She chuckled faintly.

"I had supposedly given up my womanhood, but I was humiliated simply for being a woman, and abandoned by my country for being a woman."

Silence reigned.

Leon's low voice broke the silence.

"...And yet you still tried to protect that rotten country?"

"Yes. But it was the country my father risked his life for. No matter how many times it was destroyed...I still believed in something."

Svetlana finally reached for his shirt.

"...Thank you. This might be the first time we've talked like this."

"I'm worried I won't be able to sleep properly after hearing that."

She smiled at Leon's words.

"I can sleep. I have nothing left. How about you?"

Leon frowned slightly at her gaze.

"...It seems I still haven't let go of you completely."

Quietly, little by little—

the distance between them was beginning to change.

There were still doubts. They were still stubborn.

But now that they had learned about each other's "past" and "pain,"

what was born wasn't trust...it was resonance.

The only sounds in the room were the sounds of the night.

Outside, there was the distant barking of dogs, the rustling of leaves in the wind, and the sound of a door closing somewhere.

It was a tense silence, as if this space was detached from time.

Svetlana sat in her chair, staring intently at Leon.

The fingertips of her hands, resting on the buttons of his shirt, were as cold as knives honed for judging someone.

"It's not like I feel grateful that you saved my life."

"...I suppose so."

Leon leaned against the wall, arms crossed, unable to fully read her intentions.

He could sense a burning heat lurking beneath her cold voice.

"I'm just repaying my debt. That's all."

Her fingers swiftly unbuttoned his shirt.

One by one.

With each glimpse of skin, Leon's gaze averted and returned.

"...What are you doing?"

"It's obvious just by looking at me."

"You're not trying to seduce me, are you..."

"You're stupid."

She snorted.

"You think I could use something like that?"

Her voice was cold as ever.

But there was something not to laugh at.

A bitter self-mockery only reserved for those whose feminine weapons have been crushed in the past.

Leon suddenly lowered his eyes.

He remembered the last time he'd fought this woman hand-to-hand.

He remembered the moment she pinned him down, pinned his shoulders, and knocked him down, his body reacted for a moment like a man's.

(...What am I remembering in a situation like this?)

"Sorry, but I can't accept that kind of 'obligation.'"

"Obligation? It's not. ...This is a 'choice.'"

Svetlana stood up and came towards him.

"I take it off of my own volition. What you do with it is up to you."

Standing before her, she took Leon's wrist as she finished unbuttoning his shirt.

Leon stared back into her eyes.

What lay beneath them was not color.

Not warmth.

Frozen pride, like the surface of a cold lake.

(...She just doesn't want to destroy her own strength.)

(Even after being hurt, she still resisted being seen as a "woman.")

Suddenly, Leon spoke.

"...Don't take it off yourself. Don't carry so much on your own."

Svetlana's eyes widened slightly.

"I'll take it off with my own hands. That will protect your pride better."

She didn't reply. She simply closed her eyes.

Leon's hand gently touched the edge of her shirt.

Cold fabric and even colder skin.

I wondered how much pain lingered beneath it.

The fabric slid smoothly off her shoulders, revealing the skin of her back.

There, crisscrossed were old scars, pale red and dark, like branding irons.

Leon gasped, his fingers stopping instinctively.

"...Russian army?"

"Torturers. They did their job carefully."

Svetlana laughed, but her smile was bloodless.

"I was humiliated as a woman, denounced as a spy, and returned home with my entire concept of womanhood shattered. But I still insisted on creating a country that would thrive in the Eastern Slavs. Isn't that funny?"

"...No, I can't."

"But you laughed then. When I kicked you and you fell to the ground."

"...I wasn't laughing. Probably from pain and shock."

"And a little excitement?"

Leon was at a loss for words.

Svetlana narrowed her eyes at his silence, as if she had seen the answer.

"At that moment, I thought, 'This guy's a man.'"

"...Sorry, I'm in good health."

"No. I just wanted to try out your manhood."

He took off her slip and dropped it at her feet.

He also successfully removed her violet bra.

He avoided embarrassment as a man.

He couldn't help but look away from the small but well-formed breasts that appeared before him.

She seemed to have a pale complexion throughout her body, and even the tips of her breasts were a pinkish-white color. If he stared at her for too long, he felt like he would make a masculine mess before he had even taken off her clothes.

He unhooked her skirt and it slid to the floor.

The lacy stockings held up by violet garters made him dizzy.

One more piece.

Leon took this one off, too, while looking away.

Maybe it was because she was an older woman?

He felt like a teenager again.

Svetlana quietly sat down on the bed.

Naked and silent.

"So... this isn't a loan. This is confirmation. I'm still a woman, and whether you accept that."

Her eyes finally wavered once.

Pride, pain, and a hint of sadness reflected in them.

Leon opened his mouth.

"...I probably don't understand you. But..."

He sat down on the bed and reached out to her.

"Receiving is necessary on the battlefield, isn't it?"

Svetlana didn't reply, but instead leaned into his hand.

...What they exchanged that night was not emotion.

It was simply a silent, painful confirmation of the "loneliness" and "pride" they had each carried.

[newpage]

When Leon's hand gently touched her waist,

Svetlana stiffened for a moment.

Just as he noticed and his hand was about to stop, she softly spoke.

"...I don't need any consolation. I'm not broken enough to deserve your pity."

Her voice was dignified. But there was a trembling somewhere.

Leon narrowed his eyes, and instead of answering, he gently raised himself up and gazed at her body from below.

"...That's not it."

His voice was low and slightly husky.

"I think you're... beautiful. Strong, stubborn, and covered in scars... and yet, you're here, right in front of me. I can't help but feel overwhelmed that you're in my hands now..."

Svetlana's gaze wavered at his words.

"...You're stupid. How can a man say something like that? Do you know how much this body has been trampled on...?"

"That's what I'm saying."

Leon placed his hand on her cheek.

"Even though I've been trampled on, I'm still here. I haven't given in to anyone. I'm honored to be able to hold you in my arms...I truly believe that."

It wasn't a consolation, but a man's pure instinct.

He didn't see Svetlana as a "poor woman," but as a "woman I was attracted to."

And then, like that, he put his hands on her shoulders and slowly pulled her body over him.

She said nothing more.

She simply closed her eyes quietly and accepted his movements.

As their skin touched, their heat overlapped, something inside her unravelled.

There was no sympathy or pity in Leon's gaze.

There was only pure desire and respect.

"...I've wanted you. Ever since. When you threw me down and stomped on me...I was so excited, like an idiot.

That's why I still want you. I'm not forcing anything."

The moment he whispered those words under his breath, Svetlana's heart trembled.

She chuckled softly, without even realizing it.

"You're such a jerk. But... I feel like I've been saved... by that man."

That night, for the first time, Svetlana felt it was okay for him to see her scars.

It wasn't an acceptance of weakness, but rather that someone recognized her worth, enough to embrace her even through her scars.

A long-closed emotion within her began to gently breathe.

"Look..."

Leon took Svetlana's hand and guided it toward his center.

There was evidence of hot, taut desire there.

Not sympathy.

Not comfort.

Simply and pure desire for the woman named Svetlana Belikova.

He wanted to hold her, touch her, lick her, bite her, make her moan and cry.

He wanted to see her writhe, squirm, and suffer with pleasure in his arms.

When Leon touched her there, Svetlana seemed to feel a little relieved and let out a small sigh.

Leon wanted to ask for a kiss, but he probably wouldn't allow it.

Instead, he ran his lips along her neck, licking with his tongue.

A hot sigh escaped Svetlana's mouth.

He moved to her breasts, lightly caressing them with his palms, and as her nipples began to brown, he ran his tongue up and sucked them up.

Svetlana's shoulders trembled and she put her hand on Leon's head.

She shook her head from side to side.

Perhaps she wasn't used to being caressed.

She seemed both weak and uncomfortable with pleasure.

She probably couldn't feel it openly.

Her pride was getting in the way.

And so was his fear of being touched.

Leon stopped forcing himself on her.

Instead

"That's enough... Let me feel it..."

Leon placed himself against Svetlana's already hot and wet vagina, and slowly lowered himself into her.

Svetlana's eyelids trembled, and she let out a soft moan.

It wasn't pain, nor pleasure.

It was simply a cry of pure joy as she felt the man's hard, burning desire within her.

Every time Leon moved inside her, she gasped, groaned, and let out cries of pleasure.

He normally wouldn't let a woman hear, but she was different.

Every time he let out a cry, her body trembled and her eyes welled up.

Leon whispered repeatedly in her ear.

It feels good. I can't handle it. It's amazing. I'm going crazy, I can't stop. You're beautiful.

And as he panted and moaned, her insides tightened, and Svetlana let out a sigh.

Leon knew that even if she didn't feel any physical pleasure, she would surely enjoy this voice more than anything.

After all, there was a man who was pouring his desire out upon her body, insulted, humiliated, and bruised.

Eventually, Svetlana let out a cry of emotion, and Leon slowly came inside her.

He half-closed his eyes, watching Svetlana's happy face.

Leon's hand rested on Svetlana's cheek.

She still didn't say anything.

Even after he embraced her, she kept her eyes closed and quietly steadied her breathing.

There was something behind that silence...

Leon realized that it wasn't just a blank expression.

"...I want to say thank you."

As Leon muttered, Svetlana's eyelashes twitched slightly.

"You may have offered your body as a bargain. But that wasn't how I felt. At least, not now..."

She slowly opened her eyes.

Her gaze was neither cold nor rejecting; simply quiet.

Leon hesitated, but gently placed his lips against hers.

"This... is not a debt. It's not a token of gratitude or a reward."

Just as she was about to say something,

Leon took another step toward his emotions.

"But give this to me."

He gently and softly placed his lips against hers.

Svetlana's body stiffened for a moment, as if shocked.

But Leon didn't press hard. It was just a touch of the kiss.

More than words, more than anything, this moment said it all.

And then she slowly closed her eyes.

Not in rejection, but as if accepting it for just a moment.

It wasn't a long kiss.

It wasn't a confession of love, nor a promise of a future.

But there was a definite "warmth" there.

It was a kiss that I didn't need to tell anyone about, but that I would never forget.

The two of them lay there, arms around each other.

The night passed quietly, and the breeze gently caressed the gaps in the window.

Svetlana silently rested her face against Leon's chest.

Her profile was unmistakably tinged with a slightly relaxed sense of relief,

and an unspoken hint of happiness.

The Next Morning

In a room bathed in morning mist, Svetlana quietly adjusted her clothes.

Leon, watching her movements from behind, also laced his boots.

No one spoke of last night.

But something had changed in the air between them.

"Let's go," Leon said,

and Svetlana replied, "Yes."

Their eyes met.

What was there was not the tense tension of yesterday,

but a quiet trust that allowed them to rely on each other, even without leaning on each other.

The two opened the door,

and once again set off toward the battlefield.

The lingering warmth of a kiss shared in the silence of the night.

[newpage]

The dim light of dawn filtered into the remains of an abandoned factory in Eastern Slavic.

The area was a former Russian military supply route, now a base for the remnants of the occupied region.

Leon and Svetlana crouched low, watching the situation from the shadows of the warehouse.

"Four men, carrying guns. A communications terminal in the center. And then... that guy."

Svetlana's voice was low, but somehow trembling.

Leon's gaze was fixed on a man.

On the chest of his uniform was a Russian officer's badge.

He had gray hair, dark skin, and a piercing gaze.

Leon didn't miss the slight stiffening of Svetlana's body at the sight of his face.

"Do you know him?"

"...That's Ivan Fedorov. A man in the Russian Internal Security Forces. I wouldn't even call him a 'torturer'..."

She bit her lip, unable to continue.

Leon's fists clenched.

"What did he do to you?"

Svetlana remained silent.

But her silence said more than any answer could.

"A change of plan."

Leon rose to his feet and readied his knife.

"Leon...you alone?"

"This is my problem too. I'm the one who'll shut up the mouth that humiliated you as a woman."

The infiltration was planned and efficient.

Leon and Svetlana worked together to eliminate the enemy soldiers in the warehouse one by one.

But Fedorov was the only one who remained standing.

And the moment he spotted her, he mockingly turned to Svetlana and said: "Oh, has that dog come back? You act like a queen? That night, you licked my shoes."

Slap!

With a dry thud, Fedorov's jaw snapped to the side.

It was Leon who had hit him.

"Shut up, you bastard."

Anger was in Leon's eyes.

But it wasn't rage; it was sharp, like cold fire.

Fedorov drew his knife and charged.

Leon responded. This wasn't a gunfight. This was a showdown of pride and memory.

After a back-and-forth struggle, Leon held the knife to Fedorov's throat.

"Don't ever look down on a woman again."

With that, Leon knocked the knife out of Fedorov's hand,

Fedorov collapsed to the floor, groaning.

Svetlana approached.

There was no trace of the fear in her eyes as she looked down at him.

"...You're now a ghost of the past. I'm not the girl I was back then."

She turned away and left with Leon.

The two returned to their hideout.

Exhausted from the battle, Svetlana was unusually quiet.

"...Thank you for saving me." Those were the first words of true gratitude she'd ever uttered.

"I couldn't bear to see the man who hurt you still running wild like that."

Leon shrugged slightly.

"I think I understand now a little bit about why you were willing to take on the responsibility of your country."

A faint hint of relief lit up Svetlana's eyes.

That night, they didn't share a physical bond.

But something deeper than that.

The trust between them as comrades in arms and the budding feelings of a quiet new beginning were clearly there.

[newpage]

A military runway on the outskirts of the Eastern Slav Republic.

Under the faintly dawning sky, Leon stood next to a small plane humming with fuel.

The faint smell of smoke and oil mixed with the quiet sound of heels.

Turning around, he saw Svetlana, clad in a black trench coat.

"I didn't think you'd come."

Leon chuckled, and she silently approached him.

"Don't you have security?"

"There's no one left who knows this runway."

Her voice was completely calm. Leon sensed the determination within.

"You should run away too."

"No."

Svetlana shook her head quietly.

"I won't abandon my country."

As Leon stared at her, the corners of her mouth slightly tilted up.

"It's ironic. In that room, I was a tool, disposable by the state. But... I remember what you said that night. That I was still beautiful as a woman. At that moment, I realized that I hadn't given up on being a woman, or a human being."

Leon said nothing. He simply listened to her words, holding his breath.

"From now on, I will not return to the spotlight. As a ghost of politics, I will support Eastern Slavs from behind the scenes."

"...On my own?"

"No. I already have people. A few allies who will help me."

Leon's eyes narrowed.

"You have that power."

There was silence.

Svetlana then suddenly lowered her eyes.

"...I'm grateful to you, Leon. But more than that..."

"I know."

The moment she looked up, Leon slowly walked over to her.

Then he gently placed his lips on her cheek.

Svetlana blinked in surprise, then gasped slightly.

"You're the one who can save this country, not me."

"Then what about you?"

Leon laughed and shrugged.

"On to the next hell. Unfortunately, my vacation was short."

Her eyes softened just a little,

"Be careful."

She finally said her farewell words.

Leon didn't reply, but turned away and walked up the gangway.

The engine noise grew louder again, and the plane began to move.

Standing at the end of the runway, her figure slowly receded into the distance.

The light of dawn illuminated her profile.

There were no tears in her eyes.

But deep within her heart, something was undoubtedly beginning.

She chose her country. But she decided to live a "human life" once again.

Her own quiet revolution had begun.

[newpage]

Six months later... A shooting range on the outskirts of Washington, D.C.

The sound of gunfire rings out quietly.

After hitting the center of the target with precision, Leon gently rotates his shoulders as he removes his headset.

"You've been losing your concentration a little lately, Kennedy."

A superior officer watching next to him teases.

Leon replies with a dry smile.

"A long period of peace can make your skills dull."

But that was a lie.

He always keeps folded newspaper clippings in his pocket.

On the surface, they read things like "Agricultural Reform in the Eastern Slav Republic" and "The New Education Agency."

All of these articles are so mundane that they'd be overlooked unless you're familiar with the inner workings of politics.

But Leon knew.

All of these reforms were the work of a certain "ghost."

At the same time: Underground archives in the Eastern Slav Republic government building

In a dark room, a woman was looking through documents.

He wore a black suit, subdued lipstick, and his eyes behind his glasses were sharp yet tired.

The secretary stood at the door.

"Presidential Advisor, the letter in question has arrived."

"Thank you."

Svetlana Belikova nodded slightly.

The envelope she received bore no sender's name. But she recognized the sender.

Opening it, she found a short letter and a photo inside.

"To the ghosts of a nation as wise and beautiful as ever.

I'll be protecting someone again in the next hell."

The photo showed Leon smiling with children from some other country.

Svetlana gazed at him quietly, her lips slightly tilting up.

"...What an idiot."

She muttered gently, not wanting anyone to hear.

They never lived together beyond their borders.

But each of them keeps the memory of that night deep in their hearts,

and continues to fight "for someone" in their own places.

The flame of that night still burns quietly deep in their hearts.