The parking lot was drenched in shadows, the air cold and heavy with silence. A single fluorescent lamp flickered overhead, casting a sickly glow on the concrete floor.
A man in a gray business suit lay sprawled across the ground, dragging himself forward with trembling hands. His left leg was soaked in blood, the bullet wound leaving a dark, spreading stain that followed him with every desperate crawl. Sweat streamed down his temples, dripping onto the cold floor as his breath came in ragged gasps.
Behind him, something far more chilling than the cold air lingered. He could feel it—an oppressive presence. Silent. Ruthless. Inevitable.
His hand shook violently as he tried to push himself up, his voice cracking with raw terror.
“P-Please… I-I’ll do anything you want! Money, power—just take it! But please, don’t kill me!”
From the darkness, a figure emerged. A man dressed in a black suit, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He walked as though he had all the time in the world, each footstep echoing softly against the concrete. His sharp features caught the dim light, framed by strands of black hair that hung over his eyes.
And then the eyes themselves—cold, piercing blue—locked onto the man crawling on the floor. That gaze alone froze him in place, as if the shadow itself had reached out and wrapped around his throat.
The businessman’s voice quivered, tears streaking down his cheeks.
“I know… I know there’s still a heart inside you. Please—just let me go… I don’t want to die!
The hitman remained silent, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he raised his arm and leveled the pistol at the man’s head.
The businessman froze, eyes widening, his body trembling as sheer panic consumed him.
“No… nonononono! God, please, not here… I don’t want to die! I-I have kids waiting at home… please… don’t kill me!”
A metallic clack broke the silence—the sound of the slide pulling back into place. The businessman’s breath hitched, his eyes bulging as despair set in.
“No… no… please… PLEASE—Noooooo!”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sharp cracks echoed through the empty parking lot. Blood splattered across the concrete, and the man’s body went limp. His eyes remained open, staring into nothing, as crimson spread beneath his head in a widening pool.
The hitman stood still, watching without a flicker of emotion. The silence that followed was suffocating—no screams, no witnesses, nothing but the sound of blood dripping onto cold concrete.
At last, he exhaled softly, slipping a hand into his pocket. Pulling out a sleek smartphone, he dialed without hesitation and pressed it against his ear.
Buzz… Buzz… Buzz…
A voice answered, calm and composed.
“Report?”
The hitman’s voice was low, steady.
“The target has been eliminated.”
“Well done. As expected—you never disappoint.”
The hitman said nothing.
A pause. Then the voice asked, with a hint of curiosity,
“Is something bothering you?”
He spared the corpse no more than a glance. The man’s fear, his pleas about family, his open eyes staring at nothing—none of it mattered.
For a moment, silence stretched. Then he muttered,
“…No. It’s nothing. I’ll return to headquarters in a few hours.”
The voice chuckled softly.
“Hmmm… instead, why don’t you meet me in Fukuoka?”
The hitman frowned.
“Why?”
“Oh my, still so curious, aren’t you? Don’t worry—I’ll send the coordinates. We’ll talk when you arrive. Catch you later…”
Click. The call ended.
Lowering the phone, the hitman glanced once more at the body sprawled before him. A shell of a man, stripped of soul and warmth, left only with a frozen mask of fear.
His expression did not change. Without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the silence.
Hakata Hotel – Top Floor
The soft ding of the elevator echoed as the doors slid open. From within, the hitman stepped out, his black suit immaculate, his dark hair framing his face, and a pair of sleek black sunglasses concealing his eyes. The hotel’s top floor was quieter than the rest, the air thick with a sense of exclusivity. Plush carpets muted his footsteps as he walked toward the massive set of double doors at the far end of the corridor.
The door was unmistakable—a VIP suite, its polished wood surface gleaming under the chandelier light. Two bodyguards in tailored suits flanked it, standing tall and rigid like statues. Their hands rested lightly near their holsters, though their eyes betrayed a sharp awareness of every movement.
The hitman stopped a few steps away, his voice calm and even.
“Is the president here?”
The first bodyguard gave a curt nod.
“She’s waiting for you inside.”
With synchronized precision, the two men stepped aside, shifting one pace outward to clear his path. The hitman didn’t offer them a glance, nor did he waste words. His movements were deliberate, measured—every step carrying an air of quiet authority as he reached for the handle.
Without hesitation, he pushed the door open and entered the suite.
Inside the VIP Suite
The heavy door clicked shut behind him, sealing the room in silence. A faint aroma of imported wine lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of expensive perfume.
Across the room, seated casually on a single sofa by the floor-to-ceiling window, was a woman. Her golden blonde hair gleamed faintly in the moonlight spilling through the glass, her features refined yet touched with the grace of age—beautiful still, even in her fifties. Draped only in a towel, she looked more like someone indulging in a private ritual of luxury than a figure of power. A half-empty glass of red wine swirled lazily in her hand as she gazed at the city skyline beyond.
When she finally turned to him, her lips curled into a faint smile.
“I see you did a great job out there.”
The hitman didn’t answer immediately. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but the silence was answer enough.
At last, his voice broke the stillness.
“Thought you were still at headquarters on business.”
She let out a soft exhale, almost a sigh, before taking a delicate sip of wine.
“I was, of course. But right now… I’m exhausted. So, I thought it wise to take a day off… and treat myself to a place like this. An exquisite hotel, a glass of good wine… and this view.”
Her gaze drifted back to the glittering city lights. He remained motionless, a shadow standing across from her.
She raised her glass slightly toward him, her smile playful.
“Want a drink?”
He didn’t move, didn’t answer.
The woman tilted her head, almost amused, before pulling the glass back to herself.
“What a shame. I would’ve loved to share this with someone like you. A toast… for our little celebration.”
The wine glistened under the moonlight as she took another slow sip. Setting the glass aside for a moment, she leaned back, turning her face toward the window once more.
“The moon sure is beautiful tonight, isn’t it?”
The hitman’s silence lingered, his expression unreadable as he stood in the shadows.
The blonde woman swirled the wine in her glass, watching the crimson liquid trace the edges. Her voice softened, tinged with a weary honesty.
“Being a CEO… a founder… it drains far more energy than I’d like to admit. Especially now.” She let out a faint laugh, brittle at the edges. “I hate saying it, but I’m not as active as I used to be. Age has a way of humbling you.”
Her eyes lowered for a moment, shame flickering across her elegant features. Time had not yet stripped her beauty, but the weight of years lingered beneath her confidence. Even as a leader who had shaped an empire, she knew her strength was no longer what it once was.
The hitman remained silent, a dark figure across the room.
Her lips curved faintly, though her tone carried a hint of defiance.
“Still, with the right strategy, even age loses its bite. Impact… influence… these things can outlast youth itself, if you know how to wield them properly. I—”
“Unfortunately, I’m not interested in hearing your annoying rambling, Veronica.”
He cut her words short.
The interruption landed like a blade. Her smile froze for a heartbeat before she recovered, tilting her head with feigned lightness.
“My, my… you always did know how to shut a woman down. My apologies. Perhaps I was too narrow-minded, indulging in my little monologue.”
The hitman’s voice was cold, direct.
“Why bother sending me after that man? Did you have a personal quarrel with him?”
Veronica’s lips curved again—this time into a knowing smile. She set the glass down and leaned back in her seat, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp.
“Oh, don’t be like that. You did your job well today. Surely I owe you an answer, don’t I?”
She let the silence hang for a moment, savoring the control, then continued.
“That man… he wasn’t just anyone. He was one of ours. Recently, he siphoned company funds—millions—using them for his own indulgence. A parasite feeding off what I built.”
The hitman tilted his head slightly, his tone flat.
“Weren’t you friends?”
Veronica tilted her head back and let out a laugh, rich and dismissive.
“Friends? No, my boy… not quite. We crossed paths often enough, yes—but we never shared common interests. Acquaintances at best. Still…” She swirled her wine, her smile carrying a trace of mock pity. “…that’s too bad for him.”
She leaned forward slightly, her tone dropping lower, silkier.
“You see, envy eats at people. And so… he grew jealous of me.”
“Doubtful.”
The hitman’s eyes narrowed behind his shades.
Veronica wagged a finger lightly, her smirk sharpening.
“Be patient. I was getting to the good part. He discovered… certain details about me. A dirty secret, shall we say. He thought he could blackmail me—turn it into a neat little win-win situation. The mouse is cornering the cat. So… I asked you for a favor before he got too clever.”
The hitman’s reply was flat, almost bored.
“No wonder you’ve got half the world pissed at you.”
Veronica only laughed again, unbothered.
“Darling, that’s been my reality since the day I founded CC Corp. Even before then. Allies? Friends? Meaningless words. In this world, people are either obstacles or opportunities. If they benefit me, I’ll use them. If not…” She snapped her fingers softly, smiling. “…they’re gone.”
“And him?” the hitman asked, his voice cold. “Was he an opportunity to you?”
Veronica tilted her head, considering.
“Yes… though not in the way you’d expect. I saw something in him. Potential. A spark that could’ve exceeded my expectations if nurtured.”
“And instead of using him… You had me kill him?” The hitman asked…
She sighed theatrically, placing her empty glass on the table before rising gracefully to her feet. Draped only in her towel, she stepped closer, her bare feet silent on the carpet.
“Well,” she purred, her smile both sweet and venomous, “things don’t always go as planned. What matters is the outcome… and the outcome is in our favor.”
Her eyes locked onto his, sharp and deliberate.
“Besides… we had a deal, didn’t we?”
The hitman, unmoved, gazed at her with an icy stare.
Her grin widened as she placed one hand gently on his shoulder, the touch both casual and commanding.
“Good work out there. Don’t overthink it. Go home. Rest.”
Her hand slipped away. He let out a quiet sigh, then turned toward the door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow…” she called after him.
He stopped mid-step, tilting his head slightly, his cold gaze cutting back at her over his shoulder.
Veronica’s smile gleamed, a blend of charm and threat.
“You’d better not let me down, Zero One.”
He turned away again, stepping into the hall without a word.
Veronica returned to her sofa, sinking into its cushions with a weary but satisfied sigh. She lifted her glass once more, eyes drifting back toward the city lights beyond the window.
“What a tiring day… I’ll look forward to working with you again tomorrow, Zero One.”
Her lips curled into a smile, equal parts warmth and malice, as the moonlight poured across her face.
He stepped out from the heavy door of the VIP room, the faint click of the latch echoing in the dimly lit corridor. Two bodyguards in black suits stood guard at the entrance, their imposing figures shifting as he passed by without sparing them a glance.
“Hey, you…” one of them—new to the job—called out.
He didn’t turn, but his ears caught the voice. His stride slowed, shoulders stiffening ever so slightly as if deciding whether to acknowledge the call.
“Tomorrow, Veronica will assign you a more important task,” the guard continued, trying to sound authoritative. “So don’t mess thi—”
The man stopped. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head just enough for his eyes to meet theirs.
The glare that followed wasn’t loud or violent, yet it struck them like a predator’s gaze—cold, merciless, and suffocating. For a brief, agonizing moment, it was as if their bodies forgot how to breathe.
The younger bodyguard froze, sweat prickling his temple. His lips twitched as he tried to maintain composure, but his knees betrayed him, trembling under that weight. The older guard beside him clenched his jaw, posture rigid, his instincts screaming danger.
That stare wasn’t human—it was the kind of gaze a hunter gives its prey just before the kill.
And then, just as abruptly, the man sighed, breaking eye contact. He turned away, footsteps echoing down the corridor until the sound faded into silence.
The two guards exhaled in unison, the tension finally snapping. The younger one bent slightly, panting as though he had just escaped drowning.
“D-Dammit,” he cursed under his breath, wiping the sweat off his face. “What the hell’s his deal? It’s like… like I was his target for a hunt.”
“It’s better if you don’t mess with him,” the older one muttered firmly.
“Why not? I mean, shouldn’t we do something before he drives us this goddamn nervous again?”
The rookie frowned, meeting his partner’s gaze.
The veteran turned his head away, his stoic mask cracking with the faintest trace of unease. He let out a frustrated sigh.
“You really don’t get it, do you? He’s not someone we threaten. If we make the wrong move, it’s not just you or me—it’s all of us. Dead.”
The rookie blinked, his voice faltering.
“E-Eh?”
The older guard’s silence said more than words could. The fear written in his expression was enough to silence further questions.
“That man… he’s not even an ordinary bodyguard… not even soldier… he’s… a monster…”
TO BE CONTINUED…