Liam and Lana spent the rest of the day settling into their suite. With the trip ant to last a few days, there was no need to rush. They unpacked slowly, organizing their things into the tall golden wardrobes and drawers. Lana took ti arranging her skincare products on the bathroom counter like she was moving in for a month, while Liam simply tossed his essentials into a drawer and called it a day.
Hours passed like this—quiet, calm. The suite’s warmth wrapped around them, shielding them from the snowy world outside.
By the ti dusk started creeping in, the soft city lights shimring through the tall windows, Lana stretched her arms over her head and turned toward Liam, who was lying back on the plush velvet couch, half-asleep.
"I want to try out their food," she said suddenly, standing in front of the full-length mirror, tying her hair into a high ponytail.
Liam blinked and nodded, already reaching for the tablet beside him to order room service.
But Lana stopped him. "No, I an like... out. A restaurant."
He paused and looked up at her. The spark in her eyes said everything—she wasn’t just hungry. She was itching to explore.
Liam understood imdiately. She was rarely ever free like this. No agents breathing down her neck. No shoots, no etings, no expectations. Just her, in a foreign city, away from everything.
She was restless.
He let out a breath. "Alright," he said, standing up. "Let’s go."
Her face lit up with excitent. "Yes!"
Lana rushed off to grab fresh clothes, already halfway inside the wardrobe before he finished his sentence. She erged a few minutes later wearing a warm white parka jacket with fur trimming, tight blue jeans, and snow boots. Her cheeks already had a healthy glow, her energy infectious.
Liam didn’t even bother changing. He grabbed his coat, phone, and followed her out.
The mont they stepped outside the hotel, the cold slapped him in the face like a brick wall.
"Shit," he muttered, instinctively pulling his coat tighter.
It was cold. Colder than when they’d first arrived. The chill pierced through his clothes and sank into his bones.
He squinted. "Why the hell does it feel like Antarctica now?"
Suddenly, a familiar ding echoed in his mind.
> [SYSTEM ALERT]
Mild illness detected. Body temperature dropping. Risk of cold/flu infection present.
Immune system response delayed. Condition: Developing cold symptoms.
Liam blinked.
What the—?
"Illness?" he muttered to himself. "Wait a minute... shouldn’t I heal instantly from that too?"
> [SYSTEM RESPONSE]
No. While host’s body is enhanced beyond average human capacity, it remains fundantally human.
Susceptible to common non-lethal biological conditions such as flu, fever, and fatigue.
Liam frowned. "So you can heal it, but you won’t?"
> [SYSTEM RESPONSE]
Correction: I can heal it.
Reason for non-intervention: To remind host that he is still human.
Liam narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows. "Seriously?" he muttered under his breath. "I don’t need reminding."
> [SYSTEM RESPONSE]
Noted.
He rolled his eyes in frustration.
"Everything okay?" Lana’s voice cut through the mont. She turned around, watching him curiously.
Liam blinked, shaking off the system conversation. "Yeah, yeah. Just checking sothing on my system."
Lana raised her brows in realization. "Ohhh."
They resud walking, the cold air nipping at their exposed skin as they made their way down a quieter side street lined with cafés, restaurants, and softly glowing signs in Cyrillic script. Russian music played faintly from one of the nearby stores, adding to the charm of the chilly evening.
They talked casually—about the city, the architecture, what little they’d seen so far. Lana seed genuinely excited, her breath visible in the frosty air, her eyes bouncing from building to building like a curious tourist.
Eventually, they reached a small, elegant restaurant tucked between two larger buildings. The lights were low, the atmosphere cozy. A wooden sign above the door read sothing in Russian Liam couldn’t even begin to pronounce. Lana smiled.
"This looks perfect."
Inside, it was warm. Dim lighting. Wooden floors. A few patrons, mostly locals, eating quietly or sipping wine. It was peaceful.
They picked a corner table away from everyone else. A waitress handed them nus and walked away silently.
Liam picked his up—and imdiately furrowed his brows tighter.
Every word was in Russian.
Every single one.
He stared harder, trying to make out a pattern. Maybe a word he’d recognize.
Nothing.
Not a goddamn thing.
> [SYSTEM NOTICE]
Language barrier detected.
No auto-translation provided.
Reason: Encouraging host not to be fully dependent.
Liam’s eye twitched.
"You’ve gotta be kidding ..." he muttered through gritted teeth.
> [SYSTEM RESPONSE]
Independent problem solving encouraged.
He cursed silently.
Across from him, Lana was already gliding through her nu, casually pointing to a few dishes.
"Let’s try this... and that... and ooh, this one," she said, marking things with a smile.
Liam set his nu down, glaring at it like it had personally offended him.
This trip was already off to a ridiculous start—and he wasn’t even mad about the cold anymore.
The food finally arrived.
A steaming plate of kholodets was placed in front of Liam, alongside a few other dishes that Lana had ordered. He stared at it like it was so kind of alien artifact.
The translucent jelly glistened under the restaurant’s dim lighting, chunks of at suspended inside like they were frozen in ti. A few slices of dark rye bread sat on the side, along with a dollop of horseradish sauce. Liam blinked. In all his life, with all the luxury and weird celebrity food trends, this... was sothing he’d never seen.
He looked over at Lana. She was already eating, cutting into her pelni like she’d done it a hundred tis before. She lifted a dumpling to her mouth with her fork, eyes practically glowing in delight.
Liam, still unsure, picked up his own fork and cautiously cut off a small piece of the jelly-at.
He hesitated, then brought it to his mouth.
The texture was strange at first—cold, slightly wobbly, but not unpleasant. The savory flavor of the slow-cooked at hit him next, rich and slightly tangy from the horseradish. Then ca the aftertaste—dense, earthy, and oddly satisfying. The jelly that had looked so off-putting now lted smoothly in his mouth, blending with the fatty at.
He blinked again.
"...Huh."
Before he could even process it more, he was cutting another piece. Then another. The fork moved faster now, each bite warming him up from the inside. He ate in silence, eyes locked on the plate. It wasn’t what he’d expected at all—and he couldn’t stop eating it.
Lana didn’t even notice. She was too focused, savoring her al with quiet elegance, occasionally sipping her drink and swaying slightly to the soft Russian music playing in the background.
---
anwhile, not far from the snowy city, inside an actual royal palace with white marble floors and massive chandeliers glittering like frozen stars, a young prince lounged on a golden couch in front of an enormous screen. A dumb action movie blasted through the speakers, and every few seconds, he tossed popcorn into his mouth with exaggerated flair.
Most of it missed.
Maids knelt beside him, silently picking up every stray piece that fell, as if it were part of their sacred duty.
Then, without warning, a man appeared behind the velvet curtain.
He wore a black overall, the hood pulled low over his face. His presence was silent but heavy.
The prince didn’t look away from the screen.
"You’re interrupting a very intense scene," he said lazily, tossing another handful of popcorn.
The man didn’t flinch.
"My prince," he said, voice deep and calm. "The young man you told us to keep an eye on... he’s here."
The prince paused the movie with a loud beep, the action frozen mid-explosion.
He turned slowly, one leg lazily thrown over the armrest, head tilted.
"He’s here? In Russia?"
The hooded man nodded once. "Yes, my prince. He’s in St. Petersburg."
A slow smile spread across the young prince’s face.
He sat up slightly, brushing popcorn dust off his robe.
"Now this..." he said, eyes gleaming with sothing dangerous. "...this is interesting."
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