'What I'm doing will get me killed.'
In a café, Vio sat on the upper floor, gazing out the window overlooking a high school. The school day was about to end, and any moment now, the dismissal bell would ring.
A cigarette between fingers, a cup of coffee on the table, body relaxed in the chair—but the mind was elsewhere.
He was still trying to process what he had done. The last job received was something he never imagined himself being a part of. Never once did he think he'd make someone experience the same pain that had once shattered his own family.
A few days ago, clients had come to him demanding payment from a debtor. The man still had time to repay, but creditors were rarely patient.
Vio's task was to get the money quickly. And that's exactly what he did—with exceptional skill.
He exhaled a puff of smoke and took a sip of coffee, trying to digest his emotions—or at least what was left of them.
When he first stepped into this world, there was no other choice. When the situation stabilized, he couldn't stop—too afraid of ending up like his family. But never had he expected that one day, he would find himself doing to others what had once been done to him.
"Who's that handsome guy?" a woman whispered to her friend sitting nearby.
"I come here every day, but I've never seen him before."
"He's looking at the school… waiting for his kid?"
"A kid? He's still young."
"I checked his finger—no ring."
"Then he's mine! I'll—"
"Wait, wait, I saw him first."
"Oh, don't be like that..."
What they call whispers reached Vio's ears. But his attention sharpened as students began pouring out of the school gates. His eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on one particular child—the son of the family he had ruined not too long ago.
A deep sigh escaped once he confirmed that the kid had resumed his studies. That mattered to him. The boy deserved a chance—the chance Vio never had when he was in the same situation. At the very least, he ensured that one person wouldn't end up like him.
Got up, avoiding the woman who had intended to flirt with him. Such things never interested him. They never mattered.
Driving his Jeep, watched as the sun set, leaving behind a sky littered with stars.
Even while driving, his mind sank deeper into guilt. His conscience gnawed at him—until the ringing of the phone cut through the chaos. It always happens this way: before he could fully process his emotions, a new job would arrive to bury the past under fresh sins.
And the result?
Over time, he felt like his emotions were dying, bit by bit.
Answered the call, received the location, and drove to the specified place.
In the darkness of the night, his car came to a stop between the trees. The time and setting were familiar—routine for a Trash Cleaner.
Stepped out and approached another car, its lights off. At first glance, it seemed empty, but Vio knew better. His job was clear. The man's instructions were even clearer.
"I'll send you the coordinates. You'll find a car—clean up the mess."
That was all the man had said before hanging up.
Standing beside the vehicle, Vio noticed its sleek black exterior—an expensive model. Only elite families owned cars like these.
'Another rich brat's leftovers, huh? Damn.'
Rich kids with childish minds, stuffing their pockets with money and thinking they could do whatever they wanted with whoever they wanted. Either they went too far, or they forced themselves on those who rejected them.
And in both cases, Vio found himself cleaning up their disasters.
Never liked these kinds of jobs. Well, to be fair, he didn't like any kind of job.
Opened the car door carefully—but a hand clutching a knife lunged at him. Nearly lost his left eye, but instinct kicked in, and he caught the wrist mid-swing.
The attacker recoiled, yanking their hand away and shrinking into the farthest corner of the car.
The moment Vio touched the wrist, he realized—a girl.
'Of course.'
Her whole body trembled violently. It was impossible not to feel the sheer panic radiating from her.
His first thought was to check how badly she had been hurt.
The darkness made it hard to see, but her muffled sobs weren't a good sign.
He leaned forward slightly, sticking his head into the car—a sharp scent hit his nose. A Familiar one.
'Blood.'
His fingers flicked on the car's overhead light. And then he saw.
The one he had assumed was the perpetrator was the victim.
And the one he thought was the victim—was the perpetrator.
A man lay face down, eyes wide open, completely lifeless. A crimson river poured from his body.
Beside him, the girl, shaking, had a blood-soaked knife still clutched in her trembling hand.
Vio met her eyes— empty, utterly void of life. His heart pounded.
'What is this feeling…? Why does it…? This isn't the first time I've seen something like this.'
Forcing himself to suppress the strange emotions creeping in, he spoke to her in a calm, steady voice.
"I was sent to help you..." He extended his hand slowly, making sure not to startle her.
But the girl was still in attack mode.
Before he could finish his sentence, she lunged at him again, the knife flashing toward his chest.
Her movements were wild, erratic—she had no idea what she was doing.
Dodging wasn't hard. But at this rate, he wouldn't be able to do his job.
He pulled out his phone and dialed the man who had hired him.
The line rang. No answer.
'Damn it, are you joking? You called me to save your daughter, and now you ghost me?'
A ragged breath caught his attention. The girl's breathing was unnatural.
'If something happens to her, I won't get paid.'
He tried again. And again.
No response.
Left with no choice, Vio dialed the last number he ever wanted to call.
A voice answered almost immediately.
"Vio, how's it going…?"
Vio hung up. Fast.
Of all people, that bastard had to be the one to pick up—Ferron.
He tried again, but the damn man stayed by the landline, fully aware that Vio needed something.
And now, he wasn't going to let go until he knew what it was.
'That bastard's digging his own grave.'
Swallowing his frustration, accepted the inevitable.
"Vio, what are y—"
"Open your ears and shut your mouth. I'm sending you a number. Tell the old man to have him call me. Now."
Seconds later, the call came through. Vio put it on speaker so Sarah could hear.
"Stop causing problems and let him do the job."
The line went dead.
Her hand began to tremble, signaling that she was about to let go of the knife, but Vio kept his eyes locked on hers. The blade lowered slowly—until, all at once, she drove it toward her own throat. Vio caught her wrist at the last second.
She struggled, but Vio didn't play when it came to suicide. He gripped her tightly and pulled her out of the car, straight into his arms. Pressed on her wrist until the knife slipped from her fingers.
He held her so firmly that even her trembling stopped.
With no other choice, she broke down crying.
Her sharp, anguished sobs didn't just cut through the air—they struck Vio's frozen heart.
Slowly, sank to his knees. She had no choice but to follow, her heaving chest finally beginning to calm.
Bit by bit, Vio loosened his grip and let her go.
"Can I trust you?" he asked, staring into her eyes.
The second the words left his mouth, he knew how foolish they were, didn't even know why he had asked, was about to knock her out—until she nodded.
Vio, who had sat through hours-long meetings filled with lies and negotiations, had never trusted a single promise. Yet now, he believed a woman who was physically and mentally broken.
Gently, helped her into the Jeep, removed his jacket, and draped it over her trembling shoulders.
Then, finally, he got to work.
He stuffed the dead man's body into the driver's seat, rifled through his pockets, the dashboard, and his phone.
Glancing at Sarah to make sure she was still out of it, he tucked away the evidence inside his suit.
Then, he punctured the fuel tank beneath the car. With the flick of his cigarette, the fire started.
He opened the Jeep's door.
"Look."
Vio made her watch as the car burned, consuming everything inside.
Her eyes reflected the flames. From the look on her face, Vio knew she wanted to stay until the last ember died—until the final strand of hatred in her heart burned away.
But they had to leave.
Driving out of the forest, he kept his focus on the rearview mirror, watching for anyone who might be following them. Only when they reached the main road did he finally relax.
He glanced at Sarah—she was asleep.
Sighing, he pulled out the phone and called her father.
No answer.
'Son of a bitch. Is he playing games with me?'
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then, reluctantly, he called that bastard Ferron.
"Do you know where her family lives?"
"As far as I know, they don't live in the city."
"Then how did she get here?"
"I'll see what I can find out."
The call ended.
Vio kept driving through the city.
'Why don't I just wake her up?'
Turned to look at her.
Exhaustion was written all over her face. She looked utterly drained. Immediately dismissed the idea.
"There's no registered address for her or her family," Ferron said when he called back. "Why don't you just take her to your place?"
Vio drummed his fingers against the phone, glaring.
He knew exactly what that bastard was trying to do.
But there was no other option.
The Jeep pulled up in front of his building.
Handing the keys to the concierge, Vio carried Sarah in his arms and made way upstairs.
With every step, his mind berated him.
It was as if he had lost his damn mind.
He couldn't even understand why he was doing all this.
'Why don't I just leave her somewhere? The job is done—I should walk away. …Wait. What if something happens to her?'
He unlocked the apartment door.
For a second, he debated whether to put her on the couch or lay out something on the floor.
But his feet decided for him.
Blinked—only to find himself in his bedroom, setting her down on his bed.
'Alright. Just this once. Nothing will happen.'
Turning to leave, he felt something hold his hand back.
Her fingers. Soft. Delicate.
She was still asleep, but her body trembled violently.
"Don't go… don't go…" she murmured, her sweat-drenched face twisting in distress.
Memories hit Vio like a brick.
The scene played out in his mind exactly as it had before—his mother, crying those same words as her illness consumed her.
He moved closer.
Laid beside her.
Held her tightly, keeping her shaking body still.
Within seconds, Sarah was in a deep sleep.
Vio, on the other hand, couldn't stop thinking.
'It's just for one night. It won't mean anything. Not in the end.'
He didn't know how much time had passed, but when he checked, it was already late.
Placing a hand on her wrist, checked her pulse and breathing. Everything was normal.
His phone rang, answered quickly so she wouldn't wake up.
"Sir…" the concierge said. "You told me to notify you. He was here. But since you had a lady with you, I couldn't say anything."
Vio closed his eyes.
When he opened them, they held only one decision.
"Good job."
The call ended.
Slowly, pulled himself away.
Switched out his black suit for another black suit.
Ready to leave.
'I've tolerated that bastard long enough. It's time to cut down the tree that refuses to bear fruit.'