Fatigue sometimes feels like your body has been drained after excessive exhaustion.
Wesley, after a busy day, opened his front door and casually tossed his coat onto the living room couch.
Walking through the spacious living room, all he wanted now was to grab a beer and clear his head.
As Kingpin's most trusted friend and subordinate, Wesley certainly wasn't poor. On the contrary, by any calculation, he was quite wealthy.
So, even though Kingpin's operations were based in Hell's Kitchen, neither of them lived there.
Kingpin's choice was an office—a massive one. It connected to a bedroom and living room and was equipped with various living amenities.
Wesley preferred a standalone villa-style apartment, believing it better reflected his status as an elite and distanced him from the gang members who were all brawn and no brain.
Opening the fridge, he reached for a beer out of habit and memory.
Nothing.
"I could've sworn... maybe I remembered wrong."
He didn't think much of it. Things like this happened all the time.
Like the remote, glasses, or money in a bank account.
I was sure it was there, but it's not. You just remembered wrong. (T^T)
Coffee will do.
Too lazy to bother with his usual hand-ground coffee routine—something he insisted on doing in front of others—he settled for a packet of instant coffee. He was just too busy and exhausted these days.
With a cup of coffee in hand, Wesley sifted through his favorite records near the phonograph, setting one up.
The crisp sound of the piano began to play. The unique sound quality of vinyl was one of his favorite indulgences.
As the music started to slow and soften, Wesley, slumped on the couch, thought he heard an odd sound—a slight discord in the song.
Was it... Doraemon?
"A bag of rice carried to the top floor~ A bag of rice carried to the second floor~"
"A bag of rice, I can't quite remember the lyrics~"
"A bag of rice, wash it, cook it, and you'll have a feast~"
"A bag of rice~... Doraemon!"
The voice grew louder, clearer...
It wasn't an illusion!
Wesley's eyes snapped open. Someone he had long dreaded appeared before him.
"Hello, Mr. Wesley."
That lunatic!
"Mr. Wesley, I've missed you so much!"
Leon bent down and playfully patted his face.
"You were really hard to track down!"
"You are…"
"Oh, what a coincidence! I've asked quite a few of your, um, employees these past few days. It took some, uh, persuasion, but I finally found your home."
Leon strolled around the apartment villa with interest, observing every detail with enthusiasm.
"Oh! By the way!"
Leon suddenly spun around, startling Wesley, who had been reaching for the gun under the couch cushion. Like a snakebite, Wesley recoiled his hand quickly.
"Thanks for the beer!"
Leon strolled back over and—*slap*—struck him across the face.
"No snacks to go with it? Is this how you treat guests? Or are you looking down on me?"
The slap sent Wesley reeling, nearly knocking his glasses off.
But he didn't dare resist. He didn't even dare to cry out in pain because he had no idea what this madman in front of him might do.
Forcing a smile, Wesley, his face flushed and swollen, said, "If I have the honor, I'd be delighted to invite you to dinner at the Ferris Hotel."
"How delighted?"
Huh?
"I asked you, how delighted?"
"Hahaha… You have no idea how delighted."
"Why don't I?"
"Uh… well, because I'm *that* delighted!"
"You're delighted too soon!"
*Slap!*
…
Wesley picked up his glasses and put them back on, his hatred and rage almost too much to hide, though he had always been good at masking his feelings.
Endure…
There were weapons everywhere in this room. If only he had a chance…
A hand suddenly wrapped around his neck from behind, like an old childhood friend playing a familiar game. Leon threw his arm over Wesley's shoulder and acted the part of a nonexistent friend.
"Why didn't you tell me about your new place? Afraid I'd steal your beer? I'm not that kind of guy~"
"Why don't you give me a tour of your place and show me around?"
What choice did he have? Whatever you say, goes.
…
Half an hour later.
Wesley, with bandages around his head and a whistle between his lips, sat in his personally designed karaoke room, blankly watching the madman wailing like a banshee.
He even had to keep time for him!
"I'm a carefree immortal living among the people~ Not caring about mundane affairs, only enchanted by wine!"
"Ah, the chaotic world, deep feelings! There's always a time to part!"
"Sister, you're on the boat, oh oh! Brother's walking along the shore! Hey!"
"When I say hey, you say hey! Hey!"
Wesley: …
Leon: π_π
Wesley: … Hey…
"Louder! Didn't you eat? What, too quiet? Dinner?"
Leon slapped him again: "Sing along with me!"
"Is this the excuse you're using to break up?"
"Dance along!"
"No matter how I try, I can't escape—" Leon glanced at him.
Wesley: Hey!
"The dazzling world!" Leon glanced again.
Wesley: Hey!
"I turned out to be a—" No glance.
Wesley: Hey!
…
After an hour of this hell, Leon's voice was finally giving out, and Wesley found some small relief.
"So, how do you feel? Happy?"
"Very happy!"
"Awesome or not?"
"Awesome!"
"Wanna do it again?"
"........."
Just kill me already! Wesley had finally broken.
This man wasn't just tormenting him physically—he was humiliating him!
Making him play accompaniment, sing backup, and dress like a clown, all while clapping and cheering.
"You lunatic! Madman! Just kill me already!"
"F++k you!! Madman! I'm not a clown!!"
Leon sat on the oversized sofa, leaning against the backrest, supporting his head with one hand. After listening to Wesley's furious rant, he even gave him a round of applause.
"Wait a second."
Leon disappeared from Wesley's sight in an instant.
Before Wesley could cautiously reach the door, he returned.
"Catch."
A gun landed in front of him.
It was a prized collector's gun, a Colt that had been sitting in his desk drawer.
"There's only one bullet in it. You've got a choice."
Leon slowly walked back to the couch, sitting down in the same spot, with the same posture.
"End it for yourself, or take a gamble!"
He tapped his forehead.
With a sly smile, Leon said, "Shoot here!"
Wesley trembled as he adjusted his glasses, picked up the gun he had never fired before, and pointed it at Leon's head with both hands.
Leon remained completely nonchalant, even crossing his legs.
After a long pause.
Wesley slowly, ever so slowly, turned the gun toward himself.
His face twisted, cold sweat mixed with tears streamed down his face.
*Slap!*
Another brutal smack!
"You idiot, put your finger on the trigger already!"
Wesley completely broke down.
He wept as he clung to Leon's legs, crying out and begging for mercy.
He swore he was forced into this, he regretted everything, and he vowed he'd change his ways and spend the rest of his life making up for his mistakes.
Squatting down, Leon patted the back of Wesley's head: "Now, you're starting to look a bit like a clown."
"But still not as good as me!"
Twitching, Wesley raised his head, his neck straining as he looked up. Through his tear-blurred eyes, he saw the lunatic who had always worn a mask remove his hat and peel off his face covering.
Revealing a face painted with clown makeup!
Leon slicked back his slightly wavy green hair and licked the corner of his mouth.
From his jacket pocket, Leon pulled out a small knife and slid it into Wesley's mouth.
"Mmmm…!"
*Shh!!*
Under Wesley's horrified and desperate gaze, Leon smiled and said, "I've got a small question for you. Don't be nervous. If you're nervous, my hands might shake. So, here's the question: Where can I find Kingpin?"
Wesley's tears wouldn't stop flowing.
You could've just asked, man! You could've asked earlier!
Why go through all of this!