Young Master's Regression Manual

Julius guided the intoxicated Yuliya into the motel room.

He closed the door behind them and reached for the light switch. As the lights flicked on, the heater responded in tandem.

"Here," he said, removing her coat from her shoulders.

Yuliya's eyes tried to focus on him. "Dimitri… I'm sorry… I didn't think I'd get this dizzy…"

"It's alright. Sit down for now."

He guided her to the edge of the bed, lowering her carefully until she sat with her hands on her lap.

"Do you need water?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No… stay here. Please."

Julius stepped back only enough to assess the room. It was a standard downtown Moscow motel suite fitted with the modern conveniences expected of the year 2149.

A wall panel projected the dormant holo-tech that could transform the space into anything, from a cozy cabin to a busy train station, for the more peculiar kinks that had become normalized in Soviet nightlife.

The room was discreet, easily sanitized, and easy to forget.

Yuliya reached for him blindly. "Dimitri… don't go too far…"

He returned to her side, allowing her hand to find the fabric of his sleeve. She relaxed the moment she felt him close again.

"I'm right here—"

He didn't get to finish. Yuliya suddenly cupped his cheek with both hands and pulled him forward, her flushed face rising toward his, her breath warm against his skin.

"...."

Julius placed his hand gently over her mouth, stopping her just before she reached him.

"Not yet."

Her eyes opened wider, feeling hurt, perhaps even rejected. But she didn't pull away.

"But this," Julius said in a reassuring tone, leaning closer, "for now… I hope it's enough."

He pressed a kiss to the back of his own hand, the same hand covering her lips. Yuliya blinked slowly in surprise. Her hands slid from his cheek to his collar, gripping weakly as the flush on her face deepened.

She didn't fully understand the reason for his restraint. Her thoughts were way too muddled, yet even in that haze, she could feel respect in the way he held her.

He hadn't rejected her. He hadn't brushed aside her feelings or pretended not to notice them. Instead, he had shown her that the sentiment was not one-sided while still refusing to take advantage of her in a moment where she was vulnerable.

And compared to the kind of men she had encountered in recent years, he was giving her dignity without diminishing her. He cared enough to protect her from herself, even when she wanted to throw that caution aside.

He rested a hand over hers while holding her collar, and guided her gently toward the pillows.

"I'm sorry… Dimitri," she murmured. "Tonight… I just wanted to let loose for once… I didn't think I would end up causing trouble for you…"

Julius sat beside her, careful to keep the boundary between them clear, but close enough that she could feel he hadn't withdrawn from her emotionally.

"You didn't cause trouble," he said.

"I didn't want you to see me like this…"

"There's nothing wrong with relying on someone when you're tired."

It didn't take long before Yuliya's breathing evened out and her grip on his sleeve loosened as she fell into a deep sleep. Julius watched her for a moment to ensure she had fully surrendered to rest.

Only when he was certain she wouldn't stir did he rise from the edge of the bed.

He moved carefully toward Yuliya's purse. Julius reached for it, glancing once more at the sleeping woman before opening it.

Her purse was organized. He pushed past the cosmetics and identification cards and found what he was looking for. Thin folders sealed with biometric locks, and several microdrives labeled in coded shorthand.

He took the folders out one at a time and scanned their covers. Project identifiers were wiped clean, replaced with internal Russia-only designations that only made sense if you were on the track to the Northern Belt, or Zima-12.

Of course, she had them. Yuliya wasn't just a rising academic star, but was also the daughter of one of Zima-12's senior researchers.

Julius had known this from the moment he chose to embed himself around her orbit.

Everything was taken into account.

[List of candidates.]

"I see."

Even Yuliya had access to the candidate roster, despite not yet officially being part of Zima-12. Nepotism was truly a universal phenomenon, and for a brief second, Julius almost missed the privileges that came with the Schneider name back in Germany.

At least there, doors opened before he reached them.

He scrolled through the names, line by line, expecting to see his alias neatly somewhere among the finalists.

His brows slowly drew together.

"...."

His name wasn't there.

Not even on the reserve list, the provisional list, or the footnotes.

"Impossible."

He double-checked the roster, then checked again, then went cross-reference mode in SIBYL with the clearance he still had. There was no "Dimitri Ilya Mikhailov" anywhere among the selection chain.

"This must be a mistake."

He narrowed his eyes at the empty slot where his name should have been, then slowly turned his gaze back to Yuliya sleeping soundly on the motel bed.

She had wanted to tell him something earlier, but the alcohol had overtaken her before she could. It must've been related to Zima-12.

Julius sighed and entered the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and leaned over the sink. Cold water splashed against his face, forcing his mind to shift from Dimitri Ilya Mikhailov back to Julius Sebastian Schneider.

These days, those two identities were bleeding into each other far too easily. He was smiling too casually as Dimitri, letting the role settle on him like a second skin.

And when he looked in the mirror now, he almost saw Dimitri staring back.

He needed an anchor. Something that reminded him of who he really was, of where he came from, of why he was here.

Julius reached for his wallet and opened it. Inside was a folded note with creases worn from how many times he had touched it. He unfolded it slowly.

[Hello, Mister Schneider!]

It was a message.

[Anne wants to say thank you for treating her and Mommy to the Japan trip!

Anne had so much fun! Mommy too! Mommy cried a little when we got home, but Anne knows it was happy crying!

Mommy keeps saying she doesn't know how to repay Mister, but Anne wants to repay Mister, too!

So Anne drew this!]

Below the lines were colorful crayon scribbles of three figures. One tall one with blonde hair, one smiling woman with long black hair, and one tiny girl with purple hair.

In the corner was a Pikachu drawn with confusing proportions, but immediately recognizable.

[Anne hopes Mister stays safe!

Mommy too!

Please visit us again!

We made cookies!]

Julius stared at the letter for a long time, taking in the sight of the cramped handwriting, the innocent strokes, and the pure gratitude of an innocent child.

This… was why he was Julius Schneider.

This was what separated him from Dimitri.

Slap! Slap!

Julius slapped both cheeks lightly and returned to the chair beside the back, letting the fatigue pull him under. Sleep claimed him just as quickly.

By morning, the rustling of sheets and frantic whispering pulled him from his sleep.

"I can't believe it. I can't believe it. What the hell did I just do?! Oh my god…"

Julius blinked awake, lifted his head, and looked toward the bed.

"Miss Yuliya?"

"Eeek! H-How long have you been awake, Dimitri?!"

"Just now."

Yuliya, sitting upright with her hair a mess from sleep, had bundled the blanket around herself despite still being fully clothed from the night before. She looked everywhere except at him, her face flushed.

"I… I didn't do anything strange, did I?" she asked, mortified.

"You fainted from intoxication," Julius replied. "I made sure you had water and rest. That is all."

She covered her face with both hands. "Ahhh… So embarrassing… I must have been saying stupid things…"

"Nothing I would hold against you."

Yuliya peeked at him through her fingers. "Really…?"

"Really."

She lowered her hands just enough to see him. "You're… not angry?"

"Why would I be?" Julius asked. "I brought you here because you needed help. Everything else is irrelevant."

Yuliya's shoulders sagged with relief for a heartbeat, then rose again, as if recalling something.

"Ah, Dimitri. Yesterday… before I fainted… I wanted to tell you something."

Julius met her eyes. "Yes. I recall. Do you wish to tell me now?"

Yuliya swallowed hard, gathering her courage.

"M-Maybe… after breakfast…" She paused, fidgeting. "You didn't leave, right? You stayed here all night?"

"Yes."

Her flush deepened. She pulled the blanket higher and mumbled, "So embarrassing…"

* * *

The two shared breakfast after Yuliya had finished showering. Leaving the motel together was already mortifying enough for her, so they slipped out discreetly and walked a few blocks until they found a small diner preparing to close for the morning.

They sat near the window as the staff wiped down tables around them. Yuliya stirred her coffee absentmindedly, avoiding his eyes every few seconds.

"Firstly, thank you… for looking out for me…"

"You were unwell," he replied. "It was only right."

She nodded, then pushed a small plate of blini toward him. "Eat, Dimitri. You barely touched your food."

He complied, taking a bite.

"I meant what I said," Yuliya said eventually. "There is something I need to tell you."

Julius placed his fork down and met her gaze.

"I'm listening."

"Okay, so… don't be shocked. But you weren't chosen for the Zima-12 candidates."

"Is that so?"

Her eyes widened a little, looking offended by his flat tone. "...Did you actually not want to be chosen?"

"I just don't have expectations."

"Gosh, why is this man so humble…!" she muttered into her tea, then shook her head as if resetting herself.

"...."

"But here's the twist. You weren't chosen, at least, officially."

"Officially?"

Yuliya leaned forward and lowered her voice. "My father wants you to bypass the candidacy list entirely. He wants you to work directly under him as his assistant."

"...."

Her father, Konstantin Lev Artyomov, was one of the senior heads overseeing the Northern Belt's development, including the Zima-12 internal operations.

"But like… father usually doesn't take assistants. Ever. He hates them. Thinks they slow him down. But for you, surprisingly, he made an exception."

She clasped her hands in front of her as if bracing herself.

"He said you have the accuracy of a machine. That you think faster than half the senior analysts. And… that you'd be wasted anywhere except Zima-12. Of course, I may have said a few things about you myself, so Father probably has high expectations after hearing his own daughter speak so highly of someone.

"I'm flattered."

Julius finally lifted his cup and took a sip. Being handpicked by a Zima-12 division head meant access to projects and documents only a handful of people across the USSR ever saw.

It meant stepping deeper into enemy territory, with fewer safeguards.

And of course, it meant proximity to Joachim's trail.

"He told me to inform you discreetly before the official notice arrives. He wants your answer. And… I think he wants to meet you in person before finalizing anything."

"Ah."

It was going way too perfectly. Even Julius was terrified of himself.