Junhwo's cries echoed through the house, a raw expression of grief and despair. He was oblivious to the figure silently approaching from behind, a dark shadow against the backdrop of the horrific scene. The man raised a pistol, the glint of metal catching the dim light. He was about to pull the trigger, ending Junhwo's suffering, perhaps, but also his life, when a loud crash shattered the tense silence.
A woman, a blur of motion and long blonde hair, burst through the door, tackling the would-be assassin to the ground with surprising force. Four shots rang out – not loud, not quiet, but precise – the sound muffled by a long, black tube attached to the pistol, a silencer. The woman, efficient and deadly, pinned the thug, her movements suggesting years of training.
"Let's go!" she yelled, her voice sharp and commanding. A man with black hair appeared, swiftly scooping Junhwo into his arms, supporting him as if he were injured.
"Eunji! My sister! She's still there!" Junhwo screamed, his voice filled with desperate pleas, struggling against the man's hold, trying to break free. He needed to save his little sister.
A sharp blow to the back of his neck sent him into darkness, the image of his parents' lifeless bodies, and his sister's potential danger, the last things he saw before unconsciousness claimed him.
Junhwo's eyes fluttered open, his vision slowly adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings. He was in a room – clean, spacious, and undeniably luxurious. A hotel room? The plush carpet beneath his head felt strangely out of place, a stark contrast to the horror he had experienced just hours before.
"Where… am I…?" he whispered, his voice raspy, a mix of confusion and dawning dread.
A figure appeared in the doorway – a young woman with long, pinkish-peach hair, a delicate flower hair clip adorning her head.
She peered inside, then turned and left, returning moments later with the blonde woman from the house, the black-haired man who had carried him, a tall, muscular man with a buzz cut, and a surprisingly calm cat perched on the blonde woman's shoulder.
The blonde woman stepped forward, her expression grave. The black-haired man stood beside her, his face unreadable. The buzz-cut man remained silent, his imposing presence filling the room. The cat simply yawned.
The blonde woman's voice was low, a stark contrast to the chaos of the previous night. "I'm glad you finally woke up, Junhwo." She paused, her gaze softening slightly. "We need to talk." She took a deep breath, clearly bracing herself for the difficult task ahead. "Your family... your parents... they're gone." She spoke the words with a quiet firmness, the weight of the truth hanging heavy in the air.
The black-haired man placed a comforting hand on Junhwo's shoulder, while the buzz cut man looked away, his face grim. The cat continued to groom itself. The revelation hit Junhwo like a physical blow. The shock, grief and disbelief were apparent on his face. His world was shattered, the happiness of his birthday replaced with a cold, harsh reality.
The weight of the blonde woman's words hung heavy in the air. Junhwo stared at her, his mind struggling to process the enormity of the loss. He felt a cold numbness spreading through his body, numbing the pain.
"I'm Natasha Dovovic," the blonde woman said, her voice steady despite the gravity of the situation. She gestured to the others. "This is Eunjo Yang," she indicated the black-haired man, who offered a small, almost apologetic nod. "Murdlock Aztec," she continued, pointing to the imposing figure with the buzz cut. He grunted a curt acknowledgment. "And this," she said, indicating the cat curled up on her shoulder, "is Mocha."
Floryn stepped forward, a shy smile touching her lips. "Hi, Junhwo. I'm Floryn Reind." She gestured towards Mocha with a gentle touch. "That's Mocha, by the way. He's… well, he's Mocha." Eunjo smiled faintly at Floryn's attempt to lighten the mood, the two sharing a brief, knowing glance. There was an easy familiarity between them, a clear indication that they had a close bond.
Natasha continued, "There are more people on their way to help us. Xavier is on his way as well."
Junhwo, still reeling from the news of his parents' death, watched them, a slow dawning realization creeping into his mind. He remembered the veiled threats his parents had received in the weeks leading up to this tragedy. These people… were they bodyguards? Had his parents hired them for protection? The thought that people were watching his family, hired to protect them, was a strange comfort, even now.
He struggled to reconcile the image of these people, whom he hardly knew, with the notion of them being hired to protect his family. The thought added yet another layer of bewilderment and sorrow to his already overwhelming pain and confusion.
The luxury of the hotel room, the presence of armed protectors – it all felt so incongruous with his current state of grief, so out of sync with reality, leaving him wondering whether this was simply another part of his nightmare.
Natasha's voice was serious, her words cutting through Junhwo's stunned silence. "We pretended to be a teen mental institution to avoid suspicion. To maintain that appearance, you'll have to continue attending school. You have a black belt in Taekwondo, right? That should be enough self-defense for now. Tomorrow, you'll go back to school and attend your parents' funeral. Floryn, Eunjo, and Xavier will accompany you especially during class, to keep you safe."
Just as she finished speaking, her phone rang. She put it on speakerphone, the sound echoing through the room.
A man's voice crackled through the phone. "Natasha, I'm at the docks now, and…"
"And?" Natasha pressed, her voice taut with anticipation.
"There's two… no, three people following me. I got separated from Xavier and Lyra after some crazy psycho set a bomb on our boat. Luckily—" The call cut abruptly, a jarring silence replacing the man's voice.
"Nathan! Shit! He's being followed!" Natasha exclaimed, her expression hardening. She swiftly grabbed a gun from her bag, pulling on a dark coat. The room's atmosphere shifted, the casualness dissolving into urgent action.
The scene shifted to a bustling dockyard. Nathan, clutching a severely damaged phone—two distinct holes marred its screen from apparent gunshot wounds—leaned against a crate. His voice, though strained, carried a sarcastic edge. "Were you aiming for my head, kid?"
A cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, his voice low and menacing. "My bad. I'm more of a bomb or knife guy, not a gun guy." The implication hung in the air: this wasn't just a simple tail, but a calculated, deadly ambush. The urgency in Natasha's words and actions had become chillingly real.