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Location: Rooftops of New Tokyo. Midnight. The rain is soft. The air is sharp. The city hums far below like a machine trying not to die.

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Ryeon lay flat on the rooftop, one knee bent, scope pressed against his gloved hand. His breath was steady — too steady. Like he had done this a thousand times before and would do it a thousand more. One eye closed, the other locked onto his target: a well-guarded man stepping out of a black car across the street, surrounded by bodyguards with dull reflexes.

Easy.

He adjusted the rifle ever so slightly. His finger hovered over the trigger, ready to end it in one shot.

But then— Crack.

A single suppressed shot echoed through the rain. The man dropped instantly.

Dead.

Ryeon didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His gaze slid up, following the trajectory instinctively — And then he saw you.

Silhouetted on the rooftop across from his, just barely visible between the shadows and neon, your figure stood with a rifle still cooling in your hands. Calm. Collected. A mirror of him.

His jaw clenched. You'd taken the kill. His kill.

And for the first time in years, Ryeon’s heart gave a tiny kick.

He didn’t know your name. But you just made the list.