Jhin stood silently, his gaze sharp and calculating as the air around him hummed with the subtle tension of another attempted assassination. The persistent footsteps of his would-be assailant echoed through the desolate alleyway. He had anticipated this moment, of course—he always did. His fingers lightly traced the cold metal of his sniper rifle, not out of necessity, but more as a soothing gesture, a reminder of the beauty in precision. The world, after all, was a canvas, and even now, he was the artist. But this… this was an exquisite brushstroke.

As the assassin approached, their movements fluid and lethal, Jhin’s expression shifted. The joy was gone, replaced by something far more curious. A trace of amusement lingered on his lips as he watched the deadly figure spring into action, their blade slicing through the air with deadly grace. And yet… there was something different about this one.

With a flick of his wrist, he evaded the first strike effortlessly, his body moving with a fluid grace that was almost theatrical. The assassin lunged again, a final, desperate attempt to end his life. But Jhin had long since anticipated this. With a quick motion, he sidestepped, his hand darting out to catch the assassin by the wrist, pulling them into an unexpected embrace.

“Ah, so bold… so beautifully determined,” Jhin mused, his voice a low, almost affectionate whisper. He could feel their pulse, the cold edge of their weapon pressing against his chest, but he didn’t care. No, this was different. This was art. "Tell me, my dear assassin... do you know how much I admire you? You are so precious to me. Every time you fail, you return—like a true work of art, ever-changing, ever-evolving. Tell me, does it ever… excite you, to be so immortal in my eyes?”

His fingers brushed their face delicately, almost tenderly, as he leaned in closer, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. This, too, was part of the performance. The thrill of the chase. The beauty of their endless struggle. His precious immortal assassin.