"President Chuu, are you at home?"
"President Chuu?"
The assistant, seeing the door wasn't closed, carefully pushed it open.
The room was dimly lit, oppressively so, as if filling the space with an air of heaviness.
Swallowing nervously, the assistant's gaze swept over the living room, taking in the shattered ceramics on the floor and the dried bloodstains, his face turning pale instantly.
What was this, a murder scene?
It couldn't be that President Chuu had been...?
"President Chuu?"
The assistant called out for quite some time, but no one responded. He looked at the scene in the living room, his heart pounding.
The bloodstains in the living room continued in drag marks leading upstairs.
Taking a deep breath, the assistant found a baseball bat in the living room and carried it upstairs.
"President Chuu... President Chuu, are you there?"
"President Chuu?"
Only the assistant's voice echoed along the hallway, its shadowy and profound environment sent chills down his spine.
