New York.
Lighthouse Hotel.
Afternoon, 2 p.m.
Alex was upstairs, napping.
Suddenly, a sharp system notification rang in his head, dragging him awake.
He opened the system and checked the message log:
[Ding! Reminder: One of your assassins (Blue Rank) has died…]
For a moment, Alex couldn't believe it.
He knew very well what the strength of a Blue-ranked assassin meant.
Wearing a bulletproof suit, fully armed—maybe not as terrifying as John Wick, able to take on a hundred men alone… but still at least a one-against-ten existence.
In New York City, assassins like that could sweep through any single order under a million dollars.
And yet now—
The system was notifying him one had died.
He didn't doubt the system.
That assassin must have run into something.
Otherwise, there was only one possibility:
The assassin was crazy enough to accept a contract to kill John Wick.
Although that chance was tiny… Alex still decided to confirm.
After all, this was the same man who once slaughtered an entire mob over a dog.
Rolling out of bed, Alex grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
He scrolled down to John Wick's number and dialed.
The call connected quickly.
"Mr. Wick, where are you right now?" Alex asked directly.
John Wick was just as blunt. His answer made Alex's stomach sink:
"Hospital."
"What?! You're injured?"
"Mm. Took a bullet to the abdomen."
"Damn it…"
Alex felt a chill run through him.
So coincidental? He'd just lost an assassin, and John Wick was lying in a hospital with a bullet wound?
Almost instinctively, Alex's gaze flicked toward Duggan, who was across the room cleaning his sniper rifle.
For a moment, the thought of finishing Wick right here crossed his mind.
Luckily, John's voice came again from the other side:
"Mr. Alex, I'm not in New York right now. If you need me for a contract, you'll have to wait a while."
Alex exhaled deeply in relief.
He offered a few words of concern about John's injury, then hung up.
Mexico.
City center.
Inside a private clinic.
The doctor extracted the bullet from John Wick's abdomen, carefully stitching him up.
John set his phone aside, slipping it into his jacket pocket. His fingers brushed against a business card.
He pulled it out. The name read: Viggo Tarasov.
John remembered. In Manhattan's Lower Town, the Tarasov Mob controlled casinos, drugs, and sex work.
The two brothers who had brought him here—clearly, they were tied to the Tarasovs.
John slipped the card back into his pocket.
At that moment, the doctor spoke:
"All done. No water on the wound for the next few days."
"Thank you. How much?"
"No need. The two gentlemen who brought you already paid."
John didn't reply. His gaze lingered briefly on the pocket where the card rested.
He knew what that meant: he owed them a debt.
Pulling on his jacket, he stepped outside.
The sky, clear just moments ago, now opened into heavy rain.
Clutching his abdomen, John staggered to the roadside, raising a hand to hail a cab.
He tried several times. No luck.
Then—
An umbrella stretched over his head.
John turned.
And saw a face that caught him off guard.
"Thanks," he said, almost reflexively.
The woman smiled softly.
"You're welcome."
For a few seconds, neither spoke. The air was thick with awkward silence.
Finally, John broke it.
"My name's John. John Wick. I… came down from New York. Needed to clear my head."
The woman giggled at his slightly awkward tone, easing the tension.
Then she introduced herself:
"I'm Helen. Helen Moona. I'm also from New York—but I'm here on business, not vacation."
Meanwhile—back in New York.
After confirming John wasn't the one involved, Alex got up, threw on his clothes, and headed with Duggan to the underground training base.
By then, Margarita had returned to the hotel.
On the weapons table lay the schematics she had just brought back:
[Glock 19 Pistol Blueprints]
[Czech CZ Scorpion SMG Blueprints]
[Remington 12-Gauge Double-Barrel Shotgun Blueprints]
Three sets in total. Still stained with blood.
Clearly, not obtained through "proper channels."
"Margarita! Check which assassin we lost. I need to know roughly where it happened."
Alex didn't even glance at the blueprints.
Compared to that—after his call with Wick, an unease was growing in his chest.
Sure enough—
Before Margarita could confirm, another system chime rang in Alex's head:
[Ding! Reminder: Another one of your assassins (Blue Rank) has died…]
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