Chapter 2

When I said that, you must think I’m some kind of perverted killer. Getting rid of preconceived notions isn’t easy, so please listen to what I’m about to say next.

I’m an assassin, a professional killer. In the industry, they call me ‘K’.

Every profession exists for a reason. At any time, anywhere in this world, there are people killing others. Some use power, some use emotions, some use the law, and even some use morality to justify murder. Often, it’s just a small thing—a person wanting another person dead—a curse word, a physical altercation, even a malicious glance. This era feels like a suffocating cage, where everyone’s become brutal.

Anyway, what I mean is, since the desire to kill has never disappeared, this profession has been passed down through generations. From ancient assassins, to modern-day death cultists, to today’s urban professional killers, the industry’s rules have become increasingly refined as society evolves. One tier of payment allows for a bullet to the head; two tiers let you choose from multiple methods; three tiers offer additional services. Like the video I mentioned in the story, it makes the client feel more satisfied.

It’s not worth praising, but also not worth condemning. That’s my view on the assassin industry.

Until I met a very special client.

“So you really are a killer? You can kill someone for that amount of money?” The man across the table was handsome but pale, his face showing either nervousness or excitement. On his right hand was a conspicuous red wedding ring, while his left hand wore a strange leather glove.

“Yes.” I nodded.

“Can you choose how the victim dies? Are your services this user-friendly now?” The man cleared his throat, took a sip of water, and dabbed his sweat with an expensive handkerchief.

“Of course. Who do you want to kill?”

The man pulled out a photo from his pocket, pointed to the man in it, and said, “Kill this one first.”

According to him, the man in the photo had a girlfriend who was attacked by a stray dog while jogging in the park. She kept screaming for help, but the dog’s owner ordered the dog to attack harder. The girl was bitten and hospitalized. His friend found the owner and wanted him eliminated.

The photo was a blurry long shot, but the dog owner’s proud stance wasn’t obscured by the blur.

“Is this worth killing someone over?” I frowned.

“Eliminating pests for the people—this social garbage, doesn’t he deserve to die?” The man stared straight at me.

“Pay half the fee as a deposit upfront, and the rest directly into my account after the job’s done.”

“No need. I’ll pay you the full amount. Consider this a chance to make a new friend—I’ll be working with you often from now on.” The man flashed a satisfied smile and had his subordinate transfer the money to me.