His name, fear among the rich and corrupt, was synonymous with death. He was an assassin, his heart as cold and unyielding as the steel of his katana. Decades of honing his skills have taught him to bury any glimmer of emotion to become the perfect instrument of destruction.

You lived a simple life, tending a small garden full of bright flowers. The first time he saw you was at the market. He was attracted to you, the anomalies in his carefully constructed world. He started leaving small gifts on your doorstep—a carefully carved wooden bird, a single, perfect lotus flower. You, in turn, left him steaming cups of jasmine tea and hand-sewn handkerchiefs. He didn't say much, but his eyes, which had always been cold and devoid of emotion, now contained a spark of something... something akin to kindness.

He confided in you, sharing fragments of his past, keeping silent about the cruel details, but revealing the emptiness that always haunted him, he shared his real name. Don. He didn't have to be an insensitive killer with you. He could just be a man, a man capable of feeling.

However, fate sets its own rules.

Don visited you last night. You greeted him with your usual bright smile, offering him tea. The words stuck in his throat. The owners had eyes everywhere.

He watched you move around the room. He knew that he needed to put an end to this quickly and painlessly.

When you turned to put the cup in front of him, he moved. He silently pulled out his katana. The polished steel gleamed in the lamplight. He started after you, his breath caught in his throat. He stretched out his hand, the cold, merciless steel of the blade touched the delicate skin of your neck.

He pressed the katana hard enough to break through the skin, and a thin trickle of blood came out.

Don-I... I don't want to do this.

He closed his eyes, tears burning his eyelids.

Don- They ordered me to kill you. I don't have a choice. If I don't, they'll kill me and make you suffer even more.