Chapter 1: treachery
"How exhausting this is…" I sighed as I got out of bed. My gaze shifted to the woman sleeping beside me. I stared at her coldly. No remorse, no mercy, no sympathy.
Moving quietly, I walked toward my clothes, pulling out a GLOCK-19 pistol fitted with a suppressor. Returning to the bedside, I stood there for a moment, watching her once more. Her eyelashes trembled slightly, as if she were about to wake up.
"Pew… Pew…"
I pulled the trigger twice. The first bullet pierced her forehead; the second lodged itself in her heart. There was no scream, no struggle… It was over.
Without wasting any more time, I walked toward the kitchen, turned on the gas, and then moved to the living room, lighting a small candle and placing it on the table. Casting one last glance at the room, I turned and left the hotel, heading for the parking lot.
Once I reached my car, a black BMW X5, I slipped into the driver's seat. Removing the mask from my face, I took off the gloves with fake fingerprints covering my hands.
You didn't expect me to kill someone without concealing my identity, did you?
My phone suddenly rang. I glanced at the screen—an unknown number. But I knew who it was. He had tried calling me multiple times over the past two days. Sighing, I answered.
Before I could speak, a gruff yet authoritative voice came through the line.
"Did you complete the job, or are you still playing around?"
I smirked mockingly. "I finished it, old man. And who told you I was playing?"
"Your job was to eliminate the target, not sleep with her. Isn't that playing?" His voice carried barely restrained anger.
I remained silent for a moment, unable to argue. He was right.
What surprised me even more was his tone—it was… weary, frustrated, burdened by something heavy.
"Come to this location in an hour. I'll send it to you now."
Before I could respond, the call ended abruptly.
That was the first time I had ever heard his voice filled with such exhaustion.
"Something must've happened… Could those 'old things' have noticed us?"
I quickly shook my head, dismissing the thought. No, it couldn't be that serious.
I started driving toward the outskirts. On the way, I passed several ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars rushing toward the hotel I had just left ten minutes ago. A quick glance at my watch confirmed my timing—by now, the evidence and the body should be reduced to ashes.
"There's no such thing as a perfect crime."
But I always aimed for perfection in my work. Mistakes were inevitable, even for professionals, but I wasn't one to leave loose ends.
My phone buzzed again. Checking the message, I saw the designated meeting location.
"A port?" I muttered to myself, an uneasy feeling creeping into my chest.
"Could it be…? No, I'm overthinking things."
Still, I couldn't shake off the feeling. But even so, I continued toward the port.
---
Upon arrival, I parked my car and stepped out, making my way toward one of the warehouses on the western side of the dock.
A massive, bald man—standing nearly 2.4 meters tall—was stationed outside. Without a word, I nodded at him and entered.
Inside, about twenty to thirty men were waiting, their gazes fixed on me with strange expressions—a mix of caution and fear.
But one man in particular stood out, his eyes burning with hatred and resentment.
Brown hair, hazel eyes. James.
The old man's son.
I ignored his glare and smirked at the others. "What? Do I look like an alien or something?"
At my words, most of them quickly averted their gazes.
But James didn't. He continued glaring at me, seething with barely contained loathing.
"Hello, James. How have you been?" I greeted him with a calm voice, knowing it would only irritate him further.
"Hmph, don't talk to me, you bastard." His tone was as cold as his gaze, filled with open hostility.
I chuckled and replied, "I overheard something about you… They say you've been diagnosed with—"
Before I could finish my sentence, James lunged at me, his face twisted in rage.
"I'll kill you, you damn bastard!"
He swung his fist at me, but I easily sidestepped his attack. Twisting my leg, I drove my knee into his.
"Ah… Ah!"
He collapsed to the ground, clutching his knee in pain. I looked down at him, amusement flickering in my eyes.
"Look at you, whining like a pig… I told you to stop messing around with girls in alleyways, but you never listen. And now? Look at yourself—you've turned into a pathetic, drug-addicted wreck."
I laughed, and even a few of the other men around us struggled to hold back their snickers.
Of course, James noticed. His face flushed with shame, and his eyes burned with fury.
But he couldn't do anything about it.
That was until—
"What the hell is going on here?!"
A loud, cold voice cut through the tension. We all turned toward the source and saw a young man in his late twenties, his expression as icy as death itself.
Jackson.
James' older brother, the old man's first son.
James stiffened, trying to speak, but the words stuck in his throat.
"B-Brother, h-he was the one who provok—"
"Silence."
Jackson cut him off without hesitation, his gaze shifting to me. He studied me intently, as if trying to read something beneath my exterior.
Then, in a calm but firm voice, he said: "Father is waiting for you inside."
I held his gaze for a moment before following him toward a door at the far end of the warehouse.
He knocked four times, and the old man's voice came from within.
"Enter."
Jackson opened the door but didn't step inside. Instead, he stood there, watching me. Ignoring him, I entered the room.
The office was simple—a desk, a round carpet, and a bookshelf filled with books.
Behind the desk sat an old man with gray hair, appearing to be in his sixties. Despite his age, he exuded a powerful aura, a presence that spoke of his past strength.
His deep-set eyes held intelligence and calculation.
I took a seat in front of him, maintaining my composure despite the tension in the room.
"What's going on, old man? Did something happen?" I asked, my tone indifferent.
The old man let out a long sigh, swirling his cup of coffee before taking a slow sip.
Then, with a voice weighed down by unseen burdens, he finally said:
"Unfortunately… yes."
The old man sighed, raised his cup of coffee, and took a slow sip, as if delaying the conversation that weighed on his chest.
"They've discovered our movements, and they won't overlook this."
His words made my body tense for a moment before I regained my composure and replied seriously,
"If they've already made their move against us, then I won't be getting out of this unscathed."
"I know that. That's why I called you here."
The old man reached for a coffee pot beside him, pouring himself a cup before placing another in front of me.
"Here, it's a rare blend I got from one of my clients. It'll change how you see regular coffee."
I looked at the cup for a moment before bringing it to my lips. The moment the hot liquid touched my tongue, I paused.
The taste… was different. Rich, heavy, with a faint sweetness and a deep aroma that filled my senses. A warm current spread through my body.
"Not bad," I muttered quietly, setting the cup down.
The old man smiled slightly, then continued speaking as if nothing had happened.
"This morning, I was summoned before the council to explain why we've been recruiting and training so many members over the past two years."
He paused to take another sip of his coffee before sighing deeply and continuing,
"I barely managed to resolve the issue..."
My eyes narrowed. His voice was a little too steady, as if he was trying to hide something.
"How did you 'resolve' it?" I asked, feeling a clear sense of suspicion.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he just stared at me in silence, his gaze calm, yet carrying something hidden beneath the surface.
A slight chill crawled up my spine. Slowly, I stood from my chair, my eyes still locked onto the old man.
"What's going on?" I asked coldly.
"Boom!"
Before he could respond, the office door burst open with force. A group of men I had seen in the warehouse earlier rushed inside.
At the front stood James and Jackson, their expressions filled with contempt and hatred.
I shifted my gaze between them before looking back at the old man, who remained motionless.
That was enough to make everything clear.
"I'm sorry, Michael, but this is the only solution."
His words were like a dagger to my back.
"So… you needed a scapegoat, and you chose me?"
He tried to speak, but I cut him off, my voice cold and filled with disappointment.
"I don't care for your excuses, old man."
Something inside me cracked. If I said I didn't feel anything, I would be lying.
I had considered this man family, I had believed he felt the same way. But I was wrong.
"Michael, I took you in when no one else wanted you. I trained you, fed you, clothed you, made you who you are today."
His words were warm, but now, they carried no meaning to me.
"So, you're asking me to repay that favor… with my life?"
He remained silent, as if unable to deny it.
"Remember, if you hadn't seen my talent, you wouldn't have picked me up in the first place."
At that moment, James sneered at me with disdain.
"Stop shouting at my father, you stray bastard!"
I smirked mockingly, then spat on the ground.
"Do you really think I'm trapped just because you outnumber me?"
Jackson scoffed, "You've always been arrogant, haven't you?"
Then, in a voice dripping with venom, he added,
"Once we capture you, James will have some fun with you for a while before we hand you over to the 'big guys'."
James grinned wickedly, his eyes filled with hatred as he said,
"Don't worry, I won't kill you quickly. I'll make you beg first."
I remained silent for a moment before speaking in a calm voice, my tone as cold as ice.
"We'll see."
I took a step forward, assuming a combat stance, my eyes locked onto the thirty men surrounding me.
Jackson laughed as he gestured to the men.
"Crush him."
They all rushed at me at once.
I smiled.
And then I moved.
They had made the biggest mistake of their lives… thinking I was just an ordinary man.