The warm but refreshing sea breeze washed over his handsome face. His hair fluttered softly in the breeze, like whispers of the wind playing through the strands. He sat quietly beneath the sprawling talisay tree, its old branches shading him gently from the searing sun. In the deep brown of his eyes, the endless blue sky stretched out, reflecting the turquoise waves rolling steadily before him.
The sounds of passing birds added a calming ambiance, blending in harmony with the splashing waves.
Kaizen sat atop a wooden stool, his mind drifting in silence. Ever since he suddenly lost his musical talent that fateful night, his thoughts had been consumed by suicidal despair. For some reason, both his hands were now wrapped in bandages—faint bloodstains marking the knuckles, hinting at his frustration.
Only his calm and rational self-control had kept him breathing.
When he reached home and stepped outside, his eyes fell upon the familiar view of beach covered in the soft glow of the sun. The golden sand sparkled beneath the gentle sway of coconut trees commonly found on the island while the endless ocean stretched out like a sparkling canvas of turquoise and deep blue.
For the first time in weeks, after being down of his current situation, his heart can finally enjoy the familiar view that he missed a lot. Freed from the relentless grip of thoughts about piano keys and cutthroat competition, he found himself tuning into a different kind of music—one composed by the crashing waves, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the distant calls of seabirds soaring overhead, not to mention the distant sound of the habal-habal and boat engines.
Though his fingers no longer danced effortlessly over piano keys, his soul still resonated deeply with the pure, untamed beauty of sound all around him.
The ocean's roar was a raw, powerful melody; the wind's soft whisper, a delicate harmony; together, they wove a symphony that spoke directly to the parts of him untouched by loss.
As he stood there, absorbing the serene chorus of nature, a sudden sting welled up behind his eyes. A single tear slipped down his cheek, pulled forth by the bittersweet ache of his situation—the gulf between the music he once made and the silence he now faced. It was a fragile reminder that even amidst loss, some beauty remained.
Kaizen had many questions.
"What am I gonna do now?" he mumbled to himself, but just when he was preparing to stand and head back to his room a familiar voice called out from behind.
"Wow, Kaizen! It really is you! Kumusta amego!"
Allan's vibrant smile and energetic voice instantly reached him.
Before him stood the so-called town fool—Allan. He was three years younger but matched Kaizen's height. In contrast to Kaizen's fair skin and cold gaze, Allan wore a big smile and sported a tanned complexion from too much sun on the island.
"Oi, it's Allan. Long time no see," Kaizen replied as Allan sat beside him with casual familiarity.
Despite their differences in talent and intellect, Allan and Kaizen had been good friends since childhood. Allan often sought Kaizen's advice during his foolish moments and had always been an eager listener during Kaizen's piano practices.
"How's America? It's weird seeing you here at the shore. Usually, I can only find you locked up in your music room. Is something wrong?" Allan asked, noticing Kaizen's somber mood.
"Nothing much. Just a minor problem," Kaizen lied. He preferred to carry his burdens alone. Just a few hours ago, he had told his parents the truth, and they were devastated. Watching them cry broke him. He cried too—and punched a wall, which could've ended badly. Luckily, his father had intervened in time. One reason he came to the beach was to soak his wounded hands in saltwater, but he ended up staying for the view.
Though they had decided to keep the matter private for now, they all knew the news of his sudden loss of talent would eventually spread.
"Minor problem? really? Why don't you get a mirror and just look at those massive eye bags. Did you perhaps fell in love to some gorgeous Americana and got dumped?" Allan teased, his curious eyes fixed on him.
Kaizen chuckled lightly.
"I told you, it's just a minor problem. It'll be solved soon."
"Then play something for me? I really missed hearing you in your music room. Your music lifts everyone's mood—it helps us relax," Allan said excitedly.
Kaizen gave a helpless smile.
"I can't. Not anymore," he said, his voice heavy with sorrow.
"You can't? Or you just won't?"
"I told you—I'm not playing anymore!"
Kaizen's sudden outburst startled Allan. He realized something was seriously wrong.
"Does it have something to do with that?" Allan pointed at Kaizen's bandaged hands, spotted with blood.
Kaizen took a deep breath. He knew Allan wouldn't let it go. Maybe it was time to share this "minor" problem.
"For some reason, I lost my ability to play the piano back in the US."
Allan's face contorted in disbelief.
"That's impossible, you look perfectly fine. well, except with that of course" He scanned Kaizen's body. Aside from the injuries on his hands, everything seemed normal.
"You know what? Why don't I just show you?"
A few minutes later, the two arrived at Kaizen's house.
"Hello, Auntie!" Allan greeted Kaizen's mother.
"Hello, Allan. I guess Kaizen told you something."
"Yeah… he said he wanted to prove it to me," Allan replied as he followed Kaizen to the music room where the piano awaited.
"Okay, be gentle with him, alright?"
"Sure will."
It was Kaizen's first time touching the piano since his last performance in the U.S. As he sat down, Allan stood silently beside him.
"Listen, if it hurts, you dont have to play you know? Your hands doesnt look good," Allan said, concerned, as Kaizen slowly unwrapped the blood-stained gauze.
"It stings a little, but this little scratch can't stop me." Kaizen set the gauze aside and tried to focus, willing himself to remember.
But the moment his fingers hovered over the keys, they stopped.
Kaizen's expression shifted—from curiosity to confusion to fear.
No matter how hard he tried, nothing came. No muscle memory. No familiar patterns. He didn't even know what note to press. He had hoped today would be the day it returned—but alas...
"What are you waiting for?" Allan asked, unaware of the storm in Kaizen's head.
"I'm trying."
Kaizen let his fingers fall on the keys. The result was dreadful—awkward, clashing movements that stumbled out of rhythm.
Plonk~ Plank~ Plang~
It was a disaster.
"What's going on? This isn't how you usually warm up," Allan said, wincing at the noise. It sounded like a cat frantically chasing a mouse across the keys. No melody, no rhythm—just chaos born of desperation.
Even Kaizen's parents, used to perfection, shed quiet tears and shook their heads in despair.
"Now do you believe me?" Kaizen asked, sweating, as the crushing reality hit him again—his talent wasn't coming back.
"It's just… weird hearing that from you," Allan said, staring at Kaizen's trembling hands.
"I told you. I can't play—not because of the injuries, but because I just can't anymore," Kaizen said, standing up and reaching for fresh gauze.
"I tried so many times after that night but it seems like its completely gone of my system."
"Yeah… you used to play so well it made everyone feel at peace," Allan murmured, pressing a few keys out of curiosity.
"So I assume this is why you came back from the U.S.?"
"Yeah. I told you, this condition started just when I was just about to play at the stage. It was really unfortunate...," Kaizen confessed, his voice heavy with regret as the scene of his dissapointed coach and fans flashed in his mind.
"At this point, I don't even know what to do with my life anymore." He began wrapping his hands, signaling the end of the session.
"All my life, I worked to reach the peak as a pianist. But just when the biggest door finally opened… I lost myself," Kaizen whispered, tightening the bandage.
"It's over for me, Allan."
Tears silently rolled down Kaizen's face as he watched his dreams crumble.
But then… a sound.
A beautiful, revitalizing sound.
It was piano music—soothing and vibrant—that seemed to touch the deepest part of his broken heart. The harmony floated in the air like a fragrant breeze, calming every aching nerve. Soft, graceful, powerful—like something played by a virtuoso.
Kaizen's eyes widened in disbelief as he turned toward the source.
It was Allan—the so-called town fool—playing like a god at the piano.
Kaizen froze. He didn't move, afraid to miss a single note. Questions flooded his mind, but none of them mattered in that moment.
By the time he snapped out of it, Allan had stepped away from the piano.
With a lump in his throat, Kaizen finally asked, "S-since when?"
"Huh?" Allan blinked.
"What do you mean?"
Kaizen pointed at the piano, visibly shaken.
"T-that piece! Since when did you know how to play the piano?"
"Play? I don't really know how I did it. I just mashed the buttons on instinct because I was feeling down. That's all—"
"Goodness gracious, Allan! We never knew you could play that well! What was the name of the piece?!" Kaizen's father rushed in, stunned that their 'dumb' neighbor had played something so beautiful.
"Title? I don't know. I just pressed the buttons and made sounds."
Allan had no idea of the massive twist he had just brought to Kaizen's life.
Meanwhile, Kaizen's arms twitched instinctively. Little did he know that after listening to his friend play, his love for the piano—and his instincts—were rekindled. Like sunlight breaking into his dark mind, a new future began to unfold in dazzling clarity.
And the answer to it all… was his 'dumb' friend, Allan.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the globe...
Somewhere in Finland, a man with long blond hair and a bulky build stood calmly before a massive gun that resembled a giant sniper rifle, roughly two and a half meters long.
The barrel was still smoking from the shot he had fired seconds earlier. Despite the recoil from the gun, his eye remained glued to the scope as he mumbled to himself.
"Five... four... three... two... one..."
About five kilometers away, another sniper—well-hidden atop a pine tree, complete with camo —suddenly twitched as a bullet drilled into the center of his forehead. He slumped from his position and fell into the snow below like a dead man - except it is.
"Jee! Bullseye to your ugly eyes," the man muttered with a cold smirk as he watched his confirmed kill hit the ground.
Suddenly, his phone rang. The screen lit up with a familiar name: "Mr. J."
He answered with a simple: "Mooi!"—a casual Finnish greeting among friends or coworkers.
"I just sent you a new bird. This one's worth seven billion, and I want a silent kill," the mysterious voice said.
The next second, more details—name, photo, address—flashed onto his phone screen.
Upon seeing the new "bird," a term he used for targets, he frowned.
"Vittu. You do know this is a top bird, right? Seven billion isn't gonna cut it. Make it ten."
"I'll make it ten if you take him out within three days."
A wide grin crept onto his face—eerie, almost demonic.
"How about twenty if I take him out today?"
There was a long pause on the other end. The client was clearly weighing the odds.
"Is that even possible? The bird is on the other side of the world. It takes at least twenty-four hours just to reach—"
"Mr. J, come on. When have I ever missed? When have I broken a promise? If I say one hour, it's one hour. If I say a day, it's just a day. You know my track record."
"Alright. I don't know what kind of tricks you're pulling, but fine. I'll make it thirty—if you deliver a clean job. Like Sleeping Beauty."
That phrase—Sleeping Beauty—meant killing without a trace, as if the victim had simply fallen asleep.
"Alright. Just have the money ready," the man said before stepping into his car.
Half an hour later, he stood before a massive dome-shaped building nearly 1,000 square feet in size. In the center stood an elevated platform with what looked like a grand cannon—but was in fact his most powerful sniper rifle, capable of killing a target across the globe.
As he settled in, the system began to whir—signaling the start of the real job.
His name was Simo Laene, age 40, currently residing in Finland.
And his current target?
The Vice President of the Philippines—one of the 24 secret world leaders.