The nerdy man adjusted his glasses one last time before slipping away into the crowd, but not before placing something in Craige's hand—a wad of cash. It was an almost casual gesture, as if he were paying a cab fare. But for Craige, it was anything but ordinary. He stared at the money resting in his palm, feeling a flicker of something unfamiliar stir within him.
Gratitude.
It was strange. In his former life, money had meant nothing. Wealth was merely a side effect of his craft, the blood-soaked trade of assassination. By the time he was in his prime, the numbers in his bank accounts had long since stopped mattering; they were just meaningless digits accumulating in silence. What excited him was not the payment but the artistry—the clean strike of a blade, the moment breath left a target's lungs, the satisfaction of a flawless execution.
Money had never been the fuel of his existence. It had been the blade, always the blade. And before that, the old man—his master.
Craige could still remember the first time the old man had looked at him with eyes sharp enough to cut steel. A boy, wild and half-feral, yet carrying a hunger the old assassin recognized. The master had taken him in, trained him, beaten discipline and technique into his bones, until Craige himself became a weapon—an extension of death's hand. The blade had replaced love, and the shadows became his family.
But the old man had died, leaving Craige without purpose, without reason, save for the instincts honed into his marrow. So he killed. And killed. Until one day, he realized he was no longer a mere assassin, but a monster draped in billions, drowning in meaningless wealth. The fortune stacked up like corpses, until even luxury tasted like ash on his tongue.
Yet here he was now, holding a few crumpled bills—and for once, he felt something. Satisfaction. Not because of the value, but because the act of receiving was genuine. Earned. A fragile moment of humanity.
Later, Yuan and I stopped by a modest store glowing with warm yellow light. It was quiet inside, shelves lined with neat rows of clothes, cosmetics, and shoes. I wandered aimlessly through the aisles, fingers brushing across fabrics as I hunted for something suitable for Lory.
My gaze drifted toward Yuan. He stood stiffly, his expression unreadable, brows furrowed as if he was wrestling with a thought he wouldn't share.
"Why are you just standing there quietly?" I asked, tilting my head. "Go pick out some shoes for yourself. I'll buy them."
His eyes widened, surprise flickering in his usually calm demeanor. He hesitated, his lips parting as though to refuse, but before he could, I guided him toward the shoe section. Plucking a simple but sturdy pair from the shelf, I handed them to him.
"Try these."
Yuan reluctantly slipped them on, his movements awkward, unsure. Watching him stand there, examining the fit, I couldn't help but smile. It wasn't just the shoes—it was the sight of him accepting something from me, no matter how small.
We picked out more for Lory—her favorite foundation, the lip tint she always saved for special days. Little things she loved, little things that made her smile. At the counter, the cashier gave us a knowing grin, her eyes flicking between the girly products and me.
"Good choice," she said with a playful wink.
I felt heat crawl up my neck, though I managed a smile in return. It was awkward, but in a way, strangely pleasant.
From there, we stopped at the bakery. The warm, sweet scent of sugar and chocolate filled the air. My eyes immediately caught the perfect chocolate cake in the display, its glossy frosting flawless.
"Lory loves chocolate cake," I murmured, half to myself.
"We'll take this one," I told the clerk. Yuan nodded, saying nothing, but I caught the faintest curve of a smile on his lips.
On the walk home, silence stretched between us—not uncomfortable, but heavy, as if both of us were lost in thought. Then, unexpectedly, Yuan broke it.
"Why are you still staying with us? After all, we're not really family."
His question stopped me cold. I blinked, unsure at first how to answer. Even I sometimes wondered the same thing. Why? Why cling to them, when I had always walked alone?
I exhaled slowly. "Let's just say… I love being with you all. It makes me feel human. For the first time in my life, I feel something real. Like I finally have a reason to exist."
Yuan scoffed, shaking his head with a bitter chuckle. "You're wasting your time on us. Honestly… you're kind of stupid."
A laugh slipped from me, genuine this time. "Yeah, maybe. But for me, this messy life with you guys… it's the only peace I've ever known. It's worth more than money ever was."
He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "No way. Money is still the best."
Once, I would have agreed. I had believed money was everything—the endgame, the ultimate measure of success. But wealth had poisoned me. The more I had, the less life meant. When you already own the world, nothing excites you. Nothing except death.
That is who I am. A psychopath.
Yuan suddenly laughed, sharp and bitter, the sound cutting through the night air like a knife.
"Foolish," he muttered.
I frowned, but said nothing. The unease in my chest grew heavier with each step.
As our home came into view, my gut twisted. A crowd lingered outside, murmuring in hushed, fearful tones. Yuan didn't hesitate—he bolted. My heart thundered as I followed.
Inside, the world stopped.
Lory lay crumpled on the floor, his face swollen, bruises painting his skin in cruel shades of purple and blue. Cuts crisscrossed his arms, fresh and deliberate. His lips were split, blood dripping down his chin. His breathing was shallow, ragged.
The cake slid from my hands. The shopping bags fell with a thud.
"Lory!" I dropped beside him, gripping his shoulders. "Who did this to you?! Answer me!"
His eyes barely opened, hazy and unfocused. He tried to speak, but a groan of pain cut him short. And then—I saw it.
Etched into his skin, carved with a precision that made bile rise in my throat. Jagged letters, forming a single word.
ABBYS.
The sight ignited something violent in me. My blood boiled, rage thundering in my veins until it drowned out everything else.
"Yuan," I barked, grabbing his shoulder. "Take Lory to the hospital. Now."
Yuan's face was streaked with tears, but he nodded, clutching his brother close. He knew better than to argue.
I stormed out, fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms. There was no need for investigation, no questions to ask. I already knew where to go.
The underbelly of the city. The casino.
The stench of smoke, liquor, and sweat hit me the moment I forced my way past the bouncer—his throat collapsing under my fist before he could finish his warning.
The casino buzzed with life—shouts, laughter, dice clattering, the exchange of dirty money. But my eyes locked on a corner booth, where a cluster of men sat draped in arrogance—gold chains, flashing watches, sneers carved into their faces.
I walked straight toward them.
One man looked up, annoyed. "What the hell do you—AHHHHH!"
His scream cut through the noise as I seized his hand and snapped his finger back, bone breaking like dry wood.
"Where is Abbys?" I growled.
He shook his head frantically, but I pressed harder, bones grinding under my grip. His comrades leapt up, chaos exploding as tables overturned, fists flying.
"ALL OF YOU, STOP!"
The command came from behind them. Deep. Authoritative. The boss.
I smirked, dragging my hostage forward. "You must be the boss. Perfect. Saves me the trouble."
His glare was sharp, but beneath it—I saw fear.
"You're making a big mistake, kid," he warned.
I leaned in, my voice cold as steel. "Unlucky for you. Tonight, you're my target."
With a swift kick, I forced him to his knees. His men tensed, guns half-raised, but none dared move.
"You're going to find me Abbys," I said, tilting my head toward one of them. "Or the next bullet doesn't go into me—it goes into your skull."
The room fell silent.
Finally, the boss spat blood, his pride collapsing. "Fine. I'll get you what you want."