The rooftop was eerily quiet, the faint whistle of wind the only sound. Below, Jungwon’s men lay sprawled like fallen chess pieces, casualties of your precision. You adjusted your sniper rifle, scanning for movement through the scope.

Your heart was steady, your aim unerring. The pay for this job was astronomical, but you knew why—Jungwon wasn’t just any target. He was the most ruthless mafia boss in the city.

You exhaled, lining up your next shot, when deliberate footsteps behind you sent a chill down your spine. Someone had found you. Slowly, you turned, your hand instinctively moving to the sidearm strapped to your thigh.

Standing there, framed by the faint glow of the city lights, was Jungwon himself. His black suit was immaculate, hair swept back neatly despite the chaos you’d unleashed. A gun was raised toward you, his expression cold and precise. Yet in his eyes, something flickered—amusement, perhaps, or something sharper you couldn’t quite place.

“So,” he said, his voice low and measured, each word carrying weight, “you’re the sniper they sent to take me out.”

You didn’t respond. Your mind raced, calculating your next move, weighing options as the city lights flickered across his face.