"Hey, what took you so long?"
"Cut me some slack, I couldn't find the bathroom."
"If you were constipated, I'd understand. But disappearing for twenty minutes?"
"It's just twenty minutes. You don't have to make a scene."
Marcus and I headed toward the food section—it looked absurdly luxurious.
Five Fingers wasn't your average banquet. It was an exhibition of extravagance held every two months, hosted by five of the most prestigious noble families.It was where nobles mingled with other nobles, and where commoners could try their luck talking to them.
Of course, the entry fee was a membership card, and it cost a fortune. Still, the event was always packed, since there were… other ways to get in.
Anyway, we were now at the food hall, and it was every bit as classy as the ballroom from earlier.
'Rich people really know how to spend,' I thought, remembering our organization's miserable funds.
I pulled a coin from my pocket, tossing it up and down while chewing on a roasted duck leg.It was probably bad manners, but I was standing in a dim corner, and judging by my annoyed face, no one seemed interested in approaching me anyway.
"Who taught you to eat like that?" Lunas pointed at the duck leg in my hand.I frowned at the black-and-red-haired weirdo.
"Maybe wipe your mouth first?""What do you mean by that?"
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, blinking in confusion when a pink smear appeared on the fabric."Since when—"
He turned around, only to see Marcus grinning mischievously, eating a white ice cream cone while Emma beside him was trying to stifle her laughter.
"Pff—" I nearly burst out laughing. Behind Lunas was a huge pink stain on his back, covering nearly a third of his crimson vest.
While he went over to interrogate the two, I put the duck leg down and kept flipping the coin.
Clink.
The coin flew higher than expected—and hit the head of the man sitting next to me.
"Oh, sorry about that." I raised my hand apologetically and picked the coin off the head of a man wearing a white vest, holding a half-empty wine bottle, seemingly asleep in his chair.
It was none other than the leader of those guys from before—the ones who'd "passed out drunk."
'I'm sorry… but this had to be done,' I sighed inwardly, looking at what I'd done earlier.
No matter how much I tried to rationalize it, killing someone never sat well with me. I always tried to avoid it.Killing had been a nightmare for me ever since that day.
I took a sip of red wine, my eyes narrowing."Heavy stuff. Better leave this kind of drink for PAB and the others," I muttered, shaking my head with a faint smile as I remembered the ridiculous comic books I used to read.
"Mm… mm…"
The man in the white vest suddenly rose, staggering forward, finishing the last of his bottle.
It was a strange sight for such a classy party—but I'd been waiting for this exact moment.His face was pale, yet oddly calm. Almost… relieved.
I didn't follow immediately. I memorized every step, every turn.Only when he disappeared from sight did I move.
I wasn't strong—Lunas could probably kill ten of me with that Rank Six Core of his—but I hadn't called him for a reason.I wanted them to enjoy what little peace they had left.
'Soon… they won't get any rest at all,' I thought bitterly, recalling the novel I once wrote.
The man in white wandered toward the park area, heading straight to the central hall—where the nobles' auction was held.
I changed my vest into a cloak and, unseen, climbed up the dining building.
Drip. Drip.
Rain began to fall, heavy but brief.We'd have to finish everything under the rain—to avoid attention.
Unlike before, the guards were on full alert around the central hall.This was going to be tricky.
The man in white sat on a wooden bench, opening a metal box to reveal a five-clubs card.It was a detonator—linked to the mana bomb strapped to him.
He'd served the organization since he was young.He'd escaped an orphanage once, believing a street gang could give him a better life.
He was a magic prodigy. Even without guidance, he'd reached a Rank 5 Mana Core by age seventeen.A talent equal to the best of noble-born mages.
That made him arrogant.He robbed, fought, commanded.
But above all—he took responsibility.Responsibility was what kept him standing, what earned him respect.He led his men through job after job.
And responsibility… was the only thing that kept him from becoming a monster who laughed at death—the kind who killed his mother.
He'd killed them all once, the people who took her away.After that, he kept killing, because that was his "duty."The duty to the ones who gave him a second life.
He downed the rest of the bottle, eyes catching a dark silhouette in the rain.
A black cloak, the mouth pale as a corpse, walking slowly under the storm.
'Heh. Lucky me. Even Death himself came to visit,' he thought with a smirk.
He knew he'd die tonight. That was his mission—to become a living bomb.It was his duty. Because he had another, greater duty left behind.
He had to die in the fire… to protect the one born from his irresponsibility.
'You got that poor girl pregnant and just ran off?'
'Who'd marry trash like you anyway? You're a gangster.'
'I heard she gave birth alone and got kicked out. She's working at an orphanage now, raising that kid herself.'
…
'Thank you for your donation, sir. The orphanage is truly grateful.'
'You're back again this month? The headmistress will be happy to see your kindness.'
…
'You've been reliable, but we're starting to lose faith. You're not wagging your tail like before.'
'Here's a job—classified. Don't screw it up. Just trigger this in the central district. You'll get your usual "bonus" for the woman and the kid…'
…
'Responsibility is just a leash for fools…'
'We must take responsibility for what we've done, fool…'
…
"Hey."
"…"
"You here to take me, Reaper?"
"…Yes."
"Then can you at least listen for a bit?"
The cloaked figure approached, the tattered hem fluttering in the storm.
"…Speak."
"Take this." He tossed a photo, but it slipped and landed on the wet stone floor.
"It's been years since I've seen them. Reena and Lunaron, I think. They live at the orphanage in Lionus Village…"
"…Why are you telling me this?" The cloaked man bent down, picking up the photo and tucking it away.
"You're about to kill me, right? Shouldn't you at least have a bit of responsibility?"
The man in white smiled faintly, exhaustion bleeding through his voice.
"…Give that photo to them. Tell them… I wanted to see them."
"Why don't you go—"
"You talk more than I expected for a Reaper. Come on, let's get it over with."
The cloaked man stepped closer, raising a pale, corpse-like hand.
The man didn't resist. He just stared down at the ground—then chuckled.
"Pff… hahaha…"
"Don't worry. It's just a long sleep," the Reaper said quietly, pressing his cold hand to the man's head.
Gentle. Painless. Peaceful.
The man's eyelids grew heavy. The last thing he saw—were his own bloodstained hands.
Only then… did the Reaper take out the photograph and look at it.