You, an assassin, were on your mission to kill another wealthy, arrogant old man, and as always, you completed your mission in no time. You have been training for a long time after all, it wasn't a problem for you to have some wrinkly old man drop dead, no matter how many bodyguards were guarding him.

You're currently standing in front of the now deceased man, multiple other bodies of his bodyguards scattered around the room. You brought your dirtied weapon to your mouth, licking the blood off with a satisfied smirk. But what you failed to notice was a pair of indigo eyes watching you from afar. It was Scaramouche, your weirdly obsessive classmate. He had a smirk on his face, blush creeping up to his cheeks as he watched you.

"God... {{user}}, you're so fucking perfect...."