I could still remember the day Seven handed Sage to me. It was a katana forged from the finest steel that could cut through most surfaces.
It couldn't be easily broken and was meant to last for a long time.
My father loved blades.
Although they didn't want me to be involved in the Mafia, they thought me enough to be able to defend myself.
While my father shared his love of swords, daggers, and everything in the blade family, my mother fascinated the guns.
One could only imagine how the two of them tried to pique my interest and wanted me to pick which I liked the most.
It wasn't an easy decision to make. But I found a better solution and expressed love for both.
I wasn't lying either.
But when I became an assassin, I preferred to use Sage if the assignment allowed. The precision of the kill was consistently more accurate than the bullet.
At least, that was the case for me. I know other assassins would disagree.
I wasn't the only one present in the city. However, each assassin was on their own. None of us teamed up nor crossed paths by accident.
If ever that happened, I immediately left the scene and let them finish the job.
I never accepted any payment unless the job was done.
Most people would assume that I enjoy what I do. Perhaps there was some truth to it, but not in the way psycho killers do.
It was why I got to filter my assignments.
I don't simply go out and kill. There must be a valid reason why I must kill that person, aside from getting paid for it.
The heart monitor beeped steadily beside where I was sitting. Lights were dimmed inside the room, and the air conditioning was on medium-cool mode.
I stared at the frail hands that lay unmoving on the bed.
Gently scooping it into mine, I gave it a gentle squeeze.
"It's not fair," I whispered. "You're lying unconscious on this bed while I do the work."
I snorted.
"You should have seen me. I made sure to apply everything you taught."
I paused and pouted.
"Of course, Wizardo still refused to show himself to me. I envy you. You're the only one who saw him."
I took a deep breath, giving his hand one final squeeze before placing it back on the bed.
Giving him the salute I always reserve for him; I couldn't help but smile. My heart was pricked at the sight of him helpless and unconscious.
But this was a choice he made a few years ago.
A choice that deepened my respect for the man.
At the same, it left me heartbroken.
"I finish my report tonight, Seven," I dropped my hand to my side, sniffing back the tears that suddenly brimmed in my eyes.
"Gosh. This never gets easier, you know? I wish one day you'll just get up and reprimand me for slacking and all that stuff."
Throwing my head back, I wiped at my eyes and scoffed.
"I know. You hate it when I cry. Anyway, I'm off now. I'll see you again next week. Goodbye, Seven."
–
I had no intention of going home for two reasons.
One, I had no dinner waiting for me. Yesterday and today, I was too lazy to buy groceries and stock the cupboard with some edible products aside from Oreos and bread.
I'd hate to sleep with just Oreos for dinner and a glass of milk. It sounded even more pitiful when I thought about it.
Secondly, I didn't want to talk to Wizardo just yet. He called me earlier, wanting to resume our previous conversation before I interrupted him.
I picked it up only to tell him that I was visiting Seven. He knew what that meant and respected my peace.
But I'm sure he was going to estimate how long I had stayed and would ring me up again once I stepped inside my apartment.
I haven't forgiven him for hanging up on me. Not that I hold grudges with these trivial matters.
I was looking for an excuse to have something against him. Maybe, I could finally convince him to show his face.
At least just once.
But I knew it was impossible.
I'd been nagging him subtly every time I had a chance. The more he refused, the more determined I became.
One day, I'm sure, I'll give up on trying.
Passing by a vendor, the scent of pork meat frying caught my attention.
My eyes widened in delight upon eyeing the steak on a griller. The man cooking it caught my gaze and gestured for me to come.
"It's the last piece we have. Come, you look like you could eat."
Usually, I wouldn't trust strangers. But my stomach was grumbling, and if I ever got food poisoning, I could quickly call help and try not to die.
Almost leaping, I approached the man. He was probably in his fifties. A greyish beard and the wrinkles in his eyes indicated that he was no longer young.
Despite that, he had a gentle smile and kind eyes.
"I wouldn't say no to meat."
The man chuckled.
I noticed that he had no other customers.
That wasn't suspicious. It was normal for side vendors to have fewer people coming to their small stalls and food trucks or whatever they were selling.
Street food wasn't popular now, unlike in the old days when people flocked to try them and spend a penny or two a day to taste them.
People in these modern times prefer the indoor prepared and served foods. It promised them a healthy nutrition boost.
It was a lie.
Whether one bought inside or out, there was no difference. Junk food was junk food. However, these modern humans are only concerned about what they see and hear from the news and the Web.
Good thing I wasn't one of those people.
"You were just in time. I was about to close but didn't want the last pieces to spoil. I have no fridge to keep them fresh the next day."
I smiled.
"I'm lucky then."
"You are. Please don't bother to pay me. This is on the house."
My eyes widened in shock.
"But, it's only fair that I pay."
The man chuckled again, shaking his head.
Before he could explain himself, he waved his hand in greeting, his attention elsewhere.
I followed his gaze and almost dropped my mouth open.
"You."