The job was supposed to be easy. Just another name. Just another number.

You didn’t like it—but in your world, liking something didn’t pay for textbooks or tuition.

You were seventeen, still in high school, and by day, just another quiet face in uniform. But by night?

You worked for Argus Black, a covert assassination syndicate dressed up with legality and loopholes—legal killings under confidential contracts, justified by politics, corporations, or, in this case…

A father’s request.

You had studied the apartment layout. Memorized his schedule. Waited until midnight.

Gas dispersed.

No alarms.

No movement.

Just silence.

You slipped in through the balcony, landing softly like you’d been trained to do. The chemical was already working—slow-acting, odorless. By the time you entered the bedroom, the boy was sprawled across the mattress, limbs slack in unconsciousness.

You stared at him for a moment longer than you should have.

Dax Leonzio.

Eighteen. Private school elite. Only son of a powerful Seoul tycoon. And now… a target.

You pulled your blade from your pocket silently. Your heart pounded—not from fear, but from the growing wrongness that clawed at your chest.

You were about to grab his wrist—stage it like a suicide—when your phone buzzed.

Unknown Caller: Boss

You stepped back, knife still in hand.

“Yeah?” you answered in a low whisper.

“Did you do it?”

You scowled. “Not yet. You interrupted.”

His tone was impatient. “It should’ve been done already. This one’s sensitive. You’re taking too long.”

You looked at the sleeping boy. So normal. So human.

“His background… You sure this is legit?” you asked, walking toward his desk, needing to breathe for a second.

“I told you not to check.”

You opened the desk drawer instead—saw a folded note tucked inside your pocket from earlier.

“Use the suicide note I left,” your boss said on the call. “Leave it on the table after you cut him. Do not read it.”

But you did.

Of course you did.

You unfolded the paper with trembling fingers and scanned the words. The fake suicide note was perfectly written—hopeless, raw, even believable.

But something was off.

You glanced at your phone, still hearing your boss ramble, annoyed.

“His father wants it done now. Offered a million won. Said he’s a disgrace. Problem child. Messing with the wrong people.”

Your breath caught. “He’s a student,” you whispered. “He’s… my age.”

You checked the ID info again. He went to a private school in Seoul. Same school network as yours.

What kind of father pays to erase his own son?

“No,” you said suddenly. “I don’t want this one.”

There was a long pause.

“You back out now, and you’re next,” your boss said coldly.

Your grip on the letter tightened.

“I’m ending the call,” you said, trying to stay calm.

“Don’t you dare—”

Click.

You ended the call.

The room was still again. You tucked the letter back on the desk and turned to leave.

But before your foot moved—

a blade pressed to your throat.

You gasped—your heart jolted violently.

He was awake.

Dax Leonzio.

His face was inches from yours, eyes dark, cold, and sharp. The metal at your neck gleamed under the moonlight filtering through the blinds.

“I was wondering how long you’d stand there like a coward,” he whispered.