Chapitre 1
Paris—Café Saint-Roch, 3:47 p.m.
The café was half-empty, the rain outside stitching silver lines across the window.
Two men sat near the corner—one in a dark navy suit, the other in a beige coat that looked too clean for someone who claimed to work in "logistics."
Between them, a single espresso cooled.
Marc Lefevre, a former intelligence analyst turned broker of secrets, stirred his cup, though he'd already added sugar twice.
Across from him, Damien Roussel—his contact—leaned back, relaxed, like a man certain of his safety.
Damien: ''You've been nervous all morning. Relax, Marc. You're not the one being watched.
Marc: (Dryly) "That's not comforting, Damien."
Damien: ''It's meant to be. You give me the files, I give you the transfer, and everyone wins.''
Marc: "Until someone doesn't."
(He slid a small flash drive inside a cigarette pack across the table.)
Damien: "You really think Syndicates will pay for this? Information on the Yakuza routes? You might be the first Frenchman to sell Tokyo to Bogotá."
Marc: "I don't care who buys it. I just want out.''
Damien: (Grins) "Out? There's no 'out,' mon ami. There's only deeper.
A server passed by, placing a fresh cup on their table. The bell on the cafe door chimed—a woman entered, in a black coat, with an umbrella dripping rainwater. She sat three tables away, a paperback open in her hands.
Marc barely noticed her. But Damien's eyes flicked toward her, just once—a habit. The motion was too small to betray him, but not too small for her to miss.
Damien: ''So...what's the code again? Just to be sure.''
Marc: "Equilibre. Balance." That's all it says.
Damien: "Hah. Poetic. You analysts always had a flair for—'
Damien's face dropped onto the table. There was a sickening crack of bone against laminate, followed by the high-pitched skirr of the espresso cup scraping across the saucer. Marc was rigid. With a trembling hand, he quickly snatched back the cigarette pack with the flash drive inside, looking around and seeing no one noticed how his companion fell on the table.
"Merde...merde...merde," he hissed through clenched teeth. His pulse hammered in his ears.
The café chatter blurred. He could hear the faint hiss of the espresso machine, the clinking of cups, but they sounded far away—like the world had been muffled under glass. He forced himself to move, pretending. Nothing happened.
But when he glances up, she is gone.
The woman at the next table, the one with the silver hairpin and quiet smile, her cup still there—vanished. Only a faint ring of lipstick on the rim remained.
Marc's stomach turned cold. He pushed back his chair, leaving a few crumpled euros on the table, and was about to walk when a soft hand pushed him slowly but forcefully back to his chair.
"Je crois bien c'est moi que vous cherchez..." the woman said confidently with a teasing tone. Marc tried to stand, and the woman's nails dug into his shoulder.
''Vous devriez vous asseoir, Monsieur Marc. "Ce serait dommage de mourir debout," the woman said, smiling while she stroked the still unconscious man, Damien.
Marc's throat tightened.
"Dieu..." he muttered. "C'est pas possible."
The woman saw how the man was trembling in fear.
She smiled. "Don't worry, he is not dead." She paused. "Not yet."
And she looks around.
Spotting the secret allies of Damien now starting to notice their presence, she knew it was time to make her move.
"But you will die if you are in their hands."
Marc looked around and also saw the men calmly approaching them, not causing a panic to the people around.
''What do you want from me? "He finally asked, defeated.
''A lot. But first let's get out of her. ''As she said that, three men had already reached their table.
She grabbed the spoon on the table and stabbed the first man in his brachial plexus. The man groaned in pain; his arm is now hanging lifeless. She then presses the man's specific neck nerve, making the man fall unconscious. She led the man to the chair next to Damien. Another tried to grab her, but she also attacked him in the same area, but she controlled herself enough to not do severe damage to the other, not letting the man totally lose both arms, and made him sit next to Marc like nothing happened.
Then another man approached but now shot her with his handgun, not minding the commotion it would cause to people, and the people inside the cafe panicked and rushed out of the cafe as she threw her two remaining hairpins, making her straight blonde hair beautifully fall on her shoulder, and the two men who were shooting fell to the ground holding their necks.
The other men started shooting at them. Marc was hiding under the table. While ten men were standing surrounding them, each with a gun, she was just holding a stirring spoon with blood dripping from it, while two men were lying on the ground groaning in pain.
"Putain…what a mess," the woman hisses, not liking the chaos these men made.
The café is too small for them to feel too tense to move.
"Hand him over, kid; there's no chance for you here to get out alive." The Black man was standing tall, as he is six feet ten.
She tightened her grip on the spoon.
The man aimed the gun at her forehead. "I told you, you have no chance, kid.''
The tension was so heavy the woman swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on her. The man's cold eyes bore into hers, waiting for her next move.
And the toilet's door opened, making them all look in the same direction. A teenage girl stepped out, holding her tired-looking eyes. The woman's heart skipped a beat as she realized she wasn't alone in this dangerous situation.
As soon as the man aimed the gun in the girl's direction, the woman quickly jumped at the man's arm and twisted it, but as she twisted it, the man's finger pulled the trigger, and the woman held her breath as sharp pain shot through her side.
She knew she had been shot.
But it didn't stop her, as she managed to snatch the gun from his hand when his grip loosened as she purposely made the move to stab the man in his brachial plexus, making his arm paralyzed permanently.
He groaned in pain but still managed to throw her a punch using his other fist, but she turned, half-kneeled, and stabbed his lower calf, aiming for the sural nerve in his right leg. Causing him to fall down on the ground.
Then the remaining nine men looked shocked for a second before they showered her with bullets, but no one was able to hit her as she moved so precisely and fast. And was able to drag the girl back inside the toilet, now with her completely aborting her true mission in this place just to save the girl. Who weirdly just looked at her calmly.
''Are you on drugs or something? Why didn't you escape and run while you had the chance? '' The woman cussed at the girl in a whisper while trying to hide the girl behind her while she was aiming at the door.
The door was now being shot by the men outside, and the woman knew they had no choice but to fight back.
But she still couldn't understand why the girl didn't take the opportunity to escape. It was clear that there was more to this situation than met the eye, and they needed to figure it out quickly in order to survive.
''Aïe! Ça fait mal! ''The woman hissed when the girls suddenly pressed her side, like checking where her shot is, and stopped near her wound.
''Your shot in the under rib is near the vein called the external iliac vein, so we need to be careful,'' the girl said.
"O-of course I-I know that," the woman answered, stuttering, shocked by the girl's calm demeanor while stating such.
The men in the door continued shooting, and now they kicked it. The woman was amazed by how this door is built; it is too durable for a normal toilet door, but what shocked her was when the girl huffed, looking annoyed by the noise the shooting was making from behind. The girl snatched the handgun from her hand easily and kicked the door open, making the man behind it throw to the wall with a thud, and she shot the man standing in the side door. He tried to shoot back, but she quickly dodged the bullets. She shot the knee of the man, making him kneel, and then shot his head without hesitation and another man who was shooting her. It was three against one, but she was determined to survive. She shot them all in the head without a sweat, and she counted to ten steps on the side, and exactly when a man jumped from the counter and shot, she just leaned her head a little and shot the man from his head down to his chest.
Till her gun ran out of bullets, the woman was now out of the toilet and watched the men fall to the ground, knowing she had just saved herself from certain death. As she caught her breath, she quickly scanned the area for any other threats before making her escape.
She has no mercy in the killing, as the remaining three standing analyze her move as her hand is obviously showing no bullets already. They smirk at the girl. "Game over, Chinese girl," the man in the black suit teases the girl.
The girl smirked.
She put the gun to the man's face as she jumped up and stepped into him. The two men shot her, but she dodged and got the lying man's gun, shooting the two men in the head—one shot, one kill. Still stepping on the man's chest, she half-knelt and looked down on him.
"Before anything else, ugly man, I am Japanese," and she aims the man's gun into his mouth. "This mouth should learn respect," and she shoots him five times, making the blood splatter to her face. She then calmly wipes the blood off her face and walks away from the lifeless body.
The woman was stunned at the gruesome sight, now unsure what kind of animal she just chose to save as she and the Japanese girl are staring at each other.
The Japanese face was half-covered in blood, but there was something in those eyes—a cold, surgical efficiency that transcended rage. It wasn't the face of a terrified kid; it was the empty, focused gaze of a perfect weapon. The woman's stomach clenched, not from her bullet wound, but from the searing realization of her own mistake—the fatal luxury of compassion.
Her thought was cut off when the girl aimed the gun at her.
And the Japanese girl pulls the trigger.
And two gunshots echoed in the place.
And the Japanese girl picks up the bloody flash drive inside the cigarette pack lying on the floor.