What would you do if you'd spent your whole life trapped in a cage… and finally broke free?
1. Find yourself a wife and start a family.
2. Help others who've been trapped like you.
3. Live a peaceful life, far away from your past.
4. Travel the world and experience life for the first time.
If you chose the first option, that's a great idea.
But I'm not a lover.
I've never been one—and honestly, I'm the exact opposite.
Ever since I was a child, the only things I was taught involved how to kill.
With a dagger. With a gun. With my hands. My legs. Even my goddamn shoelaces.
Killing became second nature.
The Syndicate made sure of it.
They trained me, raised me, shaped me into the perfect weapon. And they succeeded. So well, in fact, that even within the Syndicate—no one dared to meet my eyes.
Until today.
Because today… I died.
It was a flawless exit—planned for ten years, every detail accounted for.
Every record erased. Every camera blind. Every corpse in place.
I made sure of one thing: no one would ever find me.
So no, forming a family was never on my mind.
The second option? Suicidal.
You think I'd go back and "help" the others in the Syndicate?
Those poor bastards still have control chips rotting in their skulls.
Loyalty wired into them like rabid dogs on a leash.
I've seen what happens to people who try to free them.
So no. Not happening.
Option three: a peaceful life.
I considered it, I really did. Some quiet village, somewhere in the mountains.
Reading books. Drinking tea. Growing old.
It sounded nice…
Until I imagined myself actually doing it.
God, that sounded boring.
Just sitting. Reading. Watching the trees sway.
I'd rather put a bullet through my own skull.
So, maybe traveling then?
That sounded more like it. Explore. Meet new people. Make memories.
Until I realized… I didn't have any of my forged IDs on me.
Traveling without documentation would make me a criminal again—something I spent years trying to leave behind.
So none of the options really worked.
I was free… and somehow directionless.
And that's when a fifth option appeared.
Totally unplanned.
I was just walking down an empty street in the Royal Capital, blending in like I always do…
When I saw it.
A small wooden pole. A job posting, weather-worn and barely hanging on.
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Position: General Instructor – Class F
Pay: Room, board, monthly spending credit
Requirements: Literate, extremely patient, able to defend himself
Notes: All previous instructors resigned, fled, or were hospitalized.
Apply at the eastern gate. Do not ask questions. Apply at the eastern gate.
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I stared at it once.
Read it again.
And then I thought to myself:
"…Why not become a professor?"