Meanwhile, at the same time, Fable had already rescued the girl.
She looked to be in her early twenties, her face still holding a youthful glow. Her long blue hair shimmered faintly under the dim light, and her clear green eyes were exactly the same as her mother's. Even her delicate facial features were so similar that anyone could tell at first glance they were mother and daughter.
They walked quietly through the narrow, damp alley. The sound of their footsteps echoed faintly on the stone walls. When the girl spotted her mother crouched on the ground ahead, anxiously waiting, her eyes widened with relief.
"Mother!" she cried, her voice trembling with both concern and joy, before breaking into a run toward her.
The mother's eyes lit up instantly. Relief washed over her tired, tear-stained face as she staggered to her feet and spread her arms wide, desperate to pull her daughter into a tight embrace.
But just as they were a few steps apart, Fable calmly raised his hand. In his grip was a pistol.
BANG!
The gunshot tore through the air. The bullet entered the back of the girl's head and exited cleanly from her forehead. Her eyes widened for a brief moment, as if her mind hadn't yet caught up to what happened, and then her body crumpled to the ground with a soft, lifeless thud.
"What…?" The old woman's voice cracked. Her eyes went wide in disbelief, her body frozen in place.
Fable walked toward her with the same casual, detached expression, as if he had merely swatted a fly. "You told me to rescue your daughter, and I did. But with the payment you gave me… this is all you can afford — her dead body."
The old woman didn't move. Tears spilled down her wrinkled cheeks, rolling down her neck as her legs gave out beneath her. She collapsed to the ground, her trembling hands gently cupping her daughter's bloodied head. She didn't even spare a glance at the man who had just murdered her only child.
Fable crouched beside her, his shadow looming over them both. He extended his hand, offering the pistol to her. "Hmm… feeling angry? Want to kill me? Take revenge? Then take this. Point it at my forehead… and shoot."
The old woman's tear-filled eyes flicked between her daughter's still face and the gun in his palm. Her breathing quickened, and something shifted in her expression — sorrow twisted into fury. She snatched the gun and instantly aimed it at his forehead.
"Damn your ancestors, you son of a bitch!" she screamed, her voice raw as she pulled the trigger.
But— click.
Only a hollow, metallic sound echoed in the alley. No bullet fired. Her hands shook as she tried again.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
The empty sound rang again and again. There was nothing in the gun.
Fable's lips slowly curled into a cold, unsettling smile. "I remember you said… you couldn't use a gun, even if your daughter died right in front of you." His voice was low and chilling, each word cutting into her like a blade.
"Yet here you are… pulling the trigger over and over, without even a heartbeat of hesitation. Old hag… you're a big liar, aren't you?"
As he said, He took out another gun from his back pocket and pointed straight at the women.
And then —
BANG!.....
------------
The very next day, Fable and Predictor were called back to the same building where they had once come with Leonard to join the hitman organization.
They sat down in the same chairs as before, facing the same woman who had overseen their first test. Her face looked exactly the same as it had years ago, untouched by time, as if not a single wrinkle or change had dared to appear.
She looked at both of them calmly before speaking.
"So… your second test has ended. Predictor, you get an A grade. You successfully rescued your target, defeated your opponents, avoided unnecessary chaos, and kept your identity hidden. It was a well-done job."
Predictor leaned back, closed his eyes, and rubbed his nose with a smug smile. "Heh… I'm a professional, after all. I would've done even better if I knew it was a test."
The woman then turned to Fable.
"Same goes for you… but your grade is S."
"S grade?!" Predictor shot up from his seat, his voice echoing in the room. "Why?! We did the same thing!"
The woman's expression didn't change. "That's exactly the point. You accepted her request and helped her for a few pennies. In the underworld, money and power are everything. There is no place for emotions or pity. You failed that part, while Fable did not."
Predictor's mouth twitched, and for a moment, he looked like he might slap her. But he just sighed heavily, sat back down, and crossed his arms.
The woman continued, "With an S grade, Fable will start his career as a high-ranking hitman. Predictor, you'll begin as mid-rank. Of course, both of you will receive additional training for a year, unless you choose not to. From this moment onward… you are masters of your own world."
-------------
Ten years later.
Leonard and the same woman sat together in a quiet office, discussing the two men's journey.
"To think they would become so famous in just a few years… and even surpass me," Leonard chuckled, though there was pride in his eyes. "I'm glad I introduced them."
"Fable, with his ruthless and controlled nature… Predictor, with his unpredictable and chaotic one. People say they're the future 'Soul Goodman' — the greatest hitman." The woman smiled faintly.
"There are strong competitors too," Leonard added. "Like Diana, the Ice Maiden, and Sophie, the Blooming Flower. They're idols for female hitmen."
The woman paused, then asked, "Who do you think is crazier? Fable or Predictor?"
Leonard smiled without hesitation. "Without a doubt — Predictor."
Her brows rose in surprise. "Predictor? Not Fable?"
Leonard leaned back, his tone calm but certain. "Fable may look crazy and ruthless, but most of his actions have meaning. He does what he's told and shows no pity, even if it's killing a child. But Predictor… no one knows what's going on in his head or what he might do the next second."
He went on, "I've heard stories… once, during a foursome, he supposedly killed one of the women mid-act. Another time, he was calmly having coffee with a client and suddenly pulled out an axe and killed everyone in the room — no reason at all."
Leonard shook his head with a faint laugh. "He opens luxury shops to trick rich idiots — selling them plain water for thousands of dollars, or cheap clothes for the price of gold. He doesn't care if he likes what he's doing or not, Once he's bored… he'll find anything to break that boredom. He could be talking to you normally, and the next second, he might pull the trigger on you. Status means nothing to him. Even if you're from the high council or an elder, he won't hesitate."
The woman felt a cold shiver crawl down her spine. "Why is he still alive? Someone like that should be killed!"
Leonard smiled faintly. "Times have changed. You should know Fable's power. Besides… I'm old. Only Predictor, Soul Goodman and shiro oni are strong enough to keep him in check. Right now, he's alive to keep the balance."
Leonard locked eyes with the woman, his tone steady but carrying a heavy edge. "Besides, you should know better than anyone… when a person becomes the strongest, they start to lose control."
The woman didn't argue. She just fell into a deep silence. She knew exactly who he meant—Soul Goodman.
In the underworld, there was a rule carved so deep it might as well have been law itself: once you entered, there was no escape, no retirement, no happy ending. Yet Soul, being the strongest of them all, had done the unthinkable. He'd retired.
He had met a woman, fallen in love, married her, and vanished to some unknown place. That alone was enough to be a slap in the face to the entire underworld—mockery of the system they lived by. But no one dared to challenge him. Even after ten years, he was untouchable.
Leonard and the woman stared at each other in an uneasy silence. The air between them felt heavy, almost suffocating.
Then—Ring… Ring… Ring!
The sudden shrill sound cut through the stillness. Both of their phones lit up at the same time. They exchanged a quick glance before answering.
A moment later, both their eyes widened. Whatever they'd just heard hit them like a thunderclap.
The woman slowly lowered her phone, her expression unreadable but her eyes carrying a storm. Leonard's jaw tightened as he ended his call, then quickly dialed another number.
The call connected, and a cold, distant voice came through first. "What now, old man?" Fable's tone was as sharp as a blade.
Leonard didn't waste a second. "The High Council… they've killed Soul Goodman's wife. And now he's joined forces with his old friend—Shiro Oni. They're out for blood, aiming straight for the High Council and the Elders." His voice was grim, each word weighed down with tension.
"The Council has already put a bounty on him—one hundred million. The entire underworld is after him now. So, what do you think? Do you want to take this contract?"
There was a brief silence before Fable let out a low chuckle. "Is there a reason not to?"
"Good. Tell Predictor too. You can go alone if you prefer. The target's in Japan—Shibuya. Shiro Oni's playground. Other than that… the rest is up to you."
----------
In the quiet early night, inside a dimly lit astrologer's shop, the smell of old incense filled the air. The astrologer sat at a small wooden table, staring at a certain card with a troubled expression, as if the answer written there puzzled him more than his client.
Across from him sat a man in his prime, with a sharp jawline and well-kept black hair. He was none other than Predictor. He had dyed his hair black recently—just to match the hair color Fable—because for some reason, surpassing Fable had become his top goal in life. But despite his ambitions, something else was gnawing at the back of his mind.
"What's with that look?" Predictor asked, leaning back in his chair.
The astrologer, a man in his forties with a shiny bald patch on his head, gave a nervous chuckle and scratched the back of his neck. The truth was, the reading didn't make sense to him. The man before him had a good face, a fit body, and even a certain charm—yet the cards said he would never find love in this lifetime. No girlfriend, no marriage, nothing.
The astrologer swallowed hard before speaking.
"No, nothing… It's just… your destiny says you won't experience love in this life. But don't worry! In your next life, not one, but four girlfriends will be waiting for you!"
"In my next life?" Predictor narrowed his eyes at him, his voice flat.
He didn't bother saying anything else. Standing up, he walked straight out of the shop, his footsteps heavy.
"Damn it! I knew this was a scam! How the hell am I supposed to check if I get four girlfriends in my next life? I want one in this life, damn it!" he muttered bitterly, kicking at the dirt. In his frustration, he even licked a stone lying nearby—as if to release his anger in the most pointless way possible.
After a moment, he calmed down. At least he hadn't wasted money. The visit had been free; he had won a ticket to the shop while buying some items earlier. He had known from the start it might be nonsense.
"Whatever… who needs that when you have Evelyn," he said under his breath.
Evelyn was the most sought-after woman in the red-light district. For years, Predictor had been a regular customer, visiting her so often that one-third of his income was spent on her company. But he never regretted it—not once. After all, he had no girlfriend, no family.
He lived in a small apartment rather than a grand villa for one reason—safety. A villa was too obvious, too easy for his enemies to track. An apartment could be changed every month, keeping him harder to find.
With that thought, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He decided to head straight to the red-light district again tonight.
As Predictor walked through the streets, a sudden strong wind blew past him, rustling the trees and sending leaves and scraps of paper swirling through the air. Among the flying debris, a small, delicate flower drifted down, carried by the breeze. Without him noticing, it landed gently on his left ear, sticking there like a playful accessory.
He kept walking, completely unaware of it.
When he reached the red-light district and stepped into one of the buildings, several women working there gave him strange looks. Their eyes lingered on him, some trying to hide their smirks, others whispering to each other. To them, it was an odd sight—a fully grown man walking around with a cute little flower tucked behind his ear, something that would have suited a young girl far more than him.
Predictor noticed their glances but decided to ignore them, heading straight toward the top prostitute he had already booked for the night—Evelyn.
He opened the door to her room and saw her sitting there, as captivating as ever. Her strawberry-blonde hair shimmered under the dim light, framing her perfectly shaped face. Her crystal-like eyes seemed to hold a dangerous charm, and her figure—soft curves, full breasts, and long refined legs—was impossible to ignore. But Evelyn's fame didn't just come from her looks. Her skills in bed were unmatched; if she had been a simple housewife, she could have filled a house with children by now.
When she looked up and saw him, a small laugh escaped her lips.
"Being romantic today, huh?"
"What?" Predictor frowned slightly and took a seat beside her.
She pointed at his ear. He reached up, felt the soft petals, and instantly understood why everyone had been staring at him earlier. Without missing a beat, and not wanting to look foolish in front of her, he smoothly took the flower off and handed it to her.
"Actually, it's for you. What do you think?"
Evelyn chuckled, shaking her head. "Don't act cool." She took the flower from his hand—and to his surprise—popped it into her mouth, chewing it in one gulp.
Predictor blinked. "What? Why did you eat that?"
"So what? It would have wilted in a few hours and turned into garbage. But now that I've eaten it, it's a part of me. Your 'love' will always stay with me." She gave a little smirk.
His eyes widened slightly. "Really?"
Evelyn grinned mischievously. "Nope. It'll just come out tomorrow with my poop." She burst out laughing at her own joke.
Predictor stared at her for a moment with narrowed eyes, then sighed. "You know what? You're… kind of relatable. I've been meaning to ask this for a while—how about we become friends?" He extended his hand toward her.
"Friends?" Evelyn's smile faded, her eyes lowering. Her voice softened, almost trembling.
"What's wrong?" Predictor asked, sensing the shift in her mood.
She let out a dry chuckle. "I thought we were already friends. Back in my village… there was someone else I called a friend." Her eyes grew slightly red as a faint shadow of sadness crossed her face.
But then she quickly wiped her eyes and forced a smile. "Look at me. I'm ruining the mood, aren't I?"
Predictor's voice turned calm, almost serious. "Do you want to cry?"
"What?" Evelyn blinked at him, surprised.
He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, pulling her a little closer. "I don't care about someone's past… but I can see you've been carrying something heavy for a long time. Chains from the past. If you don't break them, they'll only get heavier. So… forget tonight. Don't put on an act for me. Just let it all out. You're still young—enjoy life while you can."
Evelyn's lips trembled. Her eyes grew wet, and the memories she had buried for years began to surface—how her drunk husband had sold her to this place to pay off his debts, how she had been trapped here ever since.
She broke down and hugged Predictor tightly, crying with all the pain she had kept locked away. Her sobs filled the room, raw and unrestrained.
Predictor simply looked up at the ceiling, his face calm. He didn't ask for details, didn't try to dig into her past. Some things, he believed, were better left unknown.
After half an hour, Evelyn finally pulled back, wiping away her tears. A faint smile returned to her face.
"I… I feel so much lighter now."
"Do you want to go somewhere? Like on a trip or do something fun?" Predictor asked, trying to lift her mood.
Evelyn slowly shook her head. "I can't… even if I want to. I'm not allowed to go anywhere. I'm their top prostitute, and they're too scared of losing me. Even though I've saved enough money to live my whole life without working again… I'm just a countryside farm girl with little education. I don't know anyone outside of my village people."
Predictor suddenly stood up. "That's it? You could've just said you don't like it here. Pack your things. I'll come tomorrow and take you away."
Evelyn's eyes widened as she stood up in shock. "What about them? They'll never let me go!"
"Leave them to me," Predictor said firmly. "Just do what I told you. I'll send you back to your village."
Evelyn's gaze dropped, her cheeks turning pink. "I-I wouldn't mind leaving… with you."
"With me?" Predictor raised an eyebrow. "I live in an apartment… and I change it every month. You'll only get into trouble. Besides, your family and friends in the village will be so happy to see you back. I'll still come to see you from time to time."
He glanced at his watch — his time was already up. Walking toward the door, he paused for a moment and looked back at her with a warm smile.
"You know what… I've got friends, but you're my only sane friend."
When he left, Evelyn sat on her bed, pulled her knees close to her chest, and buried her face in them.
"Stupid… stupid… stupid… By living with you, I wanted you to make me yours… You can't read a girl at all."
---
That night, Evelyn's mind was in a storm. She wanted to believe in Predictor… but she was afraid. Afraid of what could go wrong, afraid of facing her family after all these years. What if they didn't accept her? What if they looked at her with disgust?
But despite her fear, she had faith in him.
The next day, she quietly packed her belongings. She took every accessory, every bit of money she had hidden away. She wasn't going to leave anything behind.
By nightfall, she sat on her bed, waiting… her heart pounding like a drum. In her mind, she pictured Predictor coming to take her away like a knight rescuing a princess. She imagined the relief of stepping outside that cursed place for the last time.
When the doorbell finally rang, she jumped to her feet. Her heart leaped with hope. She rushed to the door, a smile already on her face—
But the moment she opened it, the smile froze. Her eyes widened.
It wasn't Predictor.
It was her husband.
The same man who had brought her here years ago… the same man who abused her, who treated her like nothing, who crushed her spirit every day. The man who never cared about the gem she truly was… and when his debts piled up, sold her to the red-light district like an object.
She remembered the worst moment — when she was pregnant, when there was still a spark of life inside her — and how she was forced to get an abortion.
Her blood turned cold. The walls felt smaller. And all she could do was stare at him, unable to breathe.
-------------
At the same night, Predictor came back, fully prepared to take Evelyn away.
As he stepped into the dimly lit building, the smell of cheap perfume and alcohol filled his nose. A middle-aged woman, with broad shoulders and a sharp jawline that gave her a masculine look, noticed him and smiled slyly.
"Mr. Daniel? How unexpected. You didn't book any girl today," she said with a teasing tone. "But don't worry, I'll prepare one for you right away." She turned, already ready to call someone over.
Predictor's cold voice cut through the air like a knife.
"No need. Today, I came to book all of you a ticket… to hell."
His hand moved behind his back, and in one swift motion, he pulled out an AK-47, the metal glinting under the flickering light. He raised it and aimed directly at her forehead.
The woman froze where she stood, her smirk vanishing. Conversations stopped, the clinking of glasses halted, and several nearby people's eyes went wide. Just as his finger tightened on the trigger—
BANG! … BANG!
Two gunshots rang out, but not from his gun. The sound came from upstairs.
Predictor's expression turned even darker. He lowered his weapon slightly, not in hesitation, but in decision, then moved forward without a word. His boots thudded heavily against the wooden stairs as he climbed quickly. On the third floor, he found a crowd gathered outside a door.
Some men were still half-dressed, others clutching their shirts. A few prostitutes stood there in revealing dresses, their heavy makeup failing to hide the fear in their eyes. All of them stared at the floor in front of the door, where a thick stream of blood was slowly spreading across the old wooden boards. Not one of them dared to go inside.
Predictor didn't waste a second. With a hard kick, the door burst open.
Inside, the smell of iron hit him instantly. Evelyn lay on the ground, two bloody holes in her stomach. Her once bright eyes were dull, empty.
Standing nearby was a man holding a pistol, his hands trembling, his breathing ragged. His eyes were wide, but there was no regret—only madness.
"This bitch…" the man's voice cracked, his tone shifting between rage and hysteria. "I told her—we could start a new life with the money she saved. We could've been happy again… but she's blinded by money, whoring around with other men!" His lips twisted into a crazed smile. "She needed to be punished. Yes! She deserved it! Hahaha—"
BANG! … BANG! … BANG!
Predictor didn't even let him finish. Without looking at him, he pulled the trigger three times, the shots echoing through the small room. The man dropped instantly, but Predictor's gaze stayed fixed on Evelyn's lifeless face.
His chest tightened, his jaw clenched. He had promised to free her, but now she lay in front of him, and all he felt was a heavy, sinking emptiness.
At that moment, his phone began to ring. He pulled it out with a sharp motion and answered.
Fable's voice came through the line, steady but urgent, telling him the latest news.
Predictor's expression changed from grief to a dangerous, murderous grin.
"Hunt Soul Goodman? Count me in. I'll fuck his ancestors!",