'She still hasn't woken up. Does she usually sleep this heavily?'
Vio sat in his Jeep, its engine still cooling after the long drive. His fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the steering wheel as his eyes remained fixed on the phone screen. The live feed from his room's surveillance camera showed Sarah still buried under the blanket.
Sliding the phone into his suit pocket, stepped out of the car. Even though it was late, he put on his sunglasses, loosened his expression, and walked toward the old building—one that belonged to a different world. A world he had once been a part of. But when does the swamp ever let its prey escape without leaving it stained?
Footsteps echoed in the maze-like corridors, on either side of which doors lined the hallway—some shut, others wide open, revealing sights not meant to be seen.
Vio kept his gaze straight ahead, refusing to look inside.
It wasn't that he didn't know.
It wasn't that he couldn't hear.
Laughter. Screams. And things are far worse.
He didn't need directions. Already knew exactly which room held the man he had come for.
Along the way, several men emerged from rooms, exchanging glances with him. A few nodded in greeting.
Vio gave a slight nod in return, but internally, he frowned.
There was something in their eyes.
Not respect. Not fear. But something else.
Mockery. Amusement. Disappointment.
These were the kinds of diseases that spread in their world. If left untreated, they would fester and destroy everything.
And that was exactly what Vio intended to do.
A complete cure.
He finally reached an open room, yellow light spilling from within.
Leaning against the doorframe, he looked inside.
Three men sat around a table, playing cards.
They sensed his presence and turned toward him, nodding in acknowledgment.
Vio didn't return the gesture, throwing them off. They exchanged a glance before two of them stood and walked past him, nodding again as they left. This time, Vio gave a slight nod back.
The remaining man smirked as Vio stepped into the room.
"My friend, Vio. I know you're not a fan of things like this, but why don't you join me?"
The man never finished his sentence.
A sharp slap from Vio sent him flying off the chair, crashing onto the floor.
"Who's your friend, huh?" Vio said coldly, grabbing the man by his shirt and shoving him toward the bathroom door.
The man crashed onto the bathroom floor, while Vio turned and closed the door behind them.
When he turned back, there was a knife coming straight for his throat.
Vio dodged, caught the man's wrist, and drove his knee into his elbow—snapping it.
A pained scream filled the small space.
The knife clattered to the ground.
Vio picked it up, forcing the man's head against the bathroom sink and pressing his knee into his back, keeping him in place.
Then, slipping the blade beneath his shirt, letting the sharp edge press against the man's side.
"W-what are you doing?!" the man shouted, his voice trembling.
"What exactly did you say?" Vio whispered in his ear.
"I didn't say anything, I swear!"
"Then how do you explain the words that reached my ears?"
"Haha," the man let out a fake laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "It's nothing, I just…"
He tried to lift himself, but Vio increased the pressure, drawing a drop of blood and making the man feel the burn.
"Alright, alright! It was just slips of the tongue!"
"Slips of the tongue?" Vio said, pressing harder.
"Ahhh!" The man's body shook as he screamed.
"Did you think I was unaware of you sticking your nose into my private matters lately?"
Vio yanked him up and slammed him against the wall.
"Did you say anything about the girl?"
Understanding dawned on the man's face, followed by a mocking smile.
"Just say it outright. You don't want people knowing you slept with one of your clients. No, wait…" He let out a dry chuckle. "Your client's daughter!"
Vio's face remained blank, unbothered.
"You still haven't answered my question."
"No, I haven't!" the man said quickly. Then, after a brief pause, he added with a knowing smirk, "Not yet… Unless—"
He never finished.
Vio grabbed his head and shoved it down—then drove the knife deep into his side.
"Tink!"
From experience, this was the cleanest way to avoid staining his clothes.
Twisting the blade twice, he pulled it out and shoved the man away.
He collapsed to the floor, choking on blood.
As the man gasped for air, Vio turned to the mirror.
Twisting the faucet, he rinsed the knife under the running water before setting it aside.
Checking his suit for any stray droplets of blood, found none.
Then, without another glance, he walked out.
Vio headed to the main room. The looks he received from the men in the hallway still carried the same tone, but they no longer mattered.
Once the source of the disease was removed, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the body healed.
He pushed open the door to find the old man in tattered clothes sitting on a chair, surrounded by a group of men with criminal looks. As soon as the old man saw Vio, he stood and began clapping enthusiastically, and one by one, the others joined in.
Their applause wasn't free of mockery.
Vio ignored them, sliding off sunglasses, his cold eyes scanning the room. Every time his gaze landed on someone, they stopped clapping—until only the old man remained, smiling at the little scene Vio had created.
"Alright, you scared little kittens, get out." The old man's voice rang out.
Immediately, the men scrambled to their feet and left.
Now, it was just the two of them.
Vio took a seat. The old man sat across from him.
"Boy..." the old man started before pausing deliberately to change his words. "Ah, I should say—hero!"
Vio put his sunglasses back on, hiding his eyes from the old man's sharp gaze. After all, it was this man who had taught him how to read people—and how to conceal his own emotions.
"Didn't I train you well? Look at you now. Everything you've built is starting to crumble… all because of your empty pity."
"I didn't pity anyone," Vio replied coldly.
"Really? Are you saying it was all just a coincidence?"
"A coincidence."
The old man propped one leg onto the seat, resting his elbow on his knee. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he studied Vio.
"A Trash Cleaner whose family was crushed under the weight of debt grows up to face a painfully familiar task—pressuring another family suffering from the same nightmare that once tore his life apart. But this time, he does his job with such perfect precision that even the clients themselves are astonished by his efficiency and ruthlessness. And then, suddenly, an unexpected loophole appears—money left behind without a debtor to claim it. And who inherits it? The only son of that ruined family. And look at that… the exact amount needed to fund his education, something our little cleaner never had the chance to get when he was in the same position."
"The clients wanted speed," Vio said calmly. "I gave it to them. I care about my clients' desires, and the consequences that follow… It was just a tax. And like I said, a coincidence."
The old man chuckled, barely able to contain his laughter. "Well then, hero."
"Enough."
"What? What did I do? Hero!"
"Stop calling me that."
"Why? Didn't you do something heroic? Every man deserves his proper title, hero."
Vio took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm.
At that moment, a man burst into the room, panic written all over his face.
"They found Ferron dead in the bathroom!"
The old man's grin widened. It had never left his face.
"Looks like we have a killer among us!" he said, turning to the panicked man. "What do you think? Should we investigate?"
The man, without meaning to, glanced at Vio, who slowly and calmly turned to face him. The man's heart raced, but the old man just waved his hand.
"Just dump the body anywhere."
As the man hurried out, Vio's phone buzzed inside his suit.
He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
A message from the concierge: Sarah woke up and left the apartment.
"Something wrong?" the old man asked, his eyes narrowing.
"A slogan from one of those companies that clutter the world with their nonsense," Vio said, putting the phone back in his pocket. "Nothing important."
"If you say so, hero."
Vio exhaled sharply, barely holding back his irritation.
"Did something hit your head, or did you watch a movie about heroes recently?"
"You keep doing heroic things. What else am I supposed to do?"
"What nonsense are you on about now?"
"Well, Ferron was a drunkard. Now he's dead. You saved his family—including his liver—from years of suffering. Isn't that something worthy of praise?"
Vio pulled out a check and placed it on the table.
The old man tilted his head, eyeing it curiously.
"I took information. Now I'm paying for it."
"You… are paying… money?" The old man laughed mockingly.
"I know you'd bray like a donkey if I didn't."
"Why did you come here in person? You could've handled this with a phone call," the old man asked, raising a brow.
"If I come, you complain. If I don't, you complain. You're like a prostitute—never satisfied."
"Boy..." the old man said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Do you think those silly sunglasses will stop me from seeing you? If you do, you're mistaken—I can still smell you. You're hiding something."
"Believe me, I've invested in multiple colognes lately. If you're smelling something, maybe you should see a doctor. As for the sunglasses, I'm trying to cleanse my eyes from the ugly faces working for you," Vio lifted his sunglasses slightly before lowering them again.
"Nice attempt at changing the subject. But you'll need another lifetime before you can master the tricks I taught you." The old man shook his head. "Ferron was after you for a while. Why suddenly get rid of him now?"
"I don't know anything about 'getting rid of' or not getting rid of.'" Vio adjusted his posture before adding in a sharper tone, "Did you tell him to come after me?"
"Me?" The old man patted his chest, feigning innocence. "How could you accuse this poor old man of such a thing?"
They both fell silent.
A familiar game—one they both knew how to play well.
"Ah, now I'm even more curious," the old man said, folding his arms. "I can smell it. You came here to bury something. And now… I really wish I could talk to Ferron."
"Well," Vio stood up, his gaze still locked on the old man. "You're the one who taught me that the dead don't talk."
"Hahaha, good one, Hero!" the old man laughed.
Vio frowned, pointing a finger at the old man.
"If that nickname spreads, know that you'll have a problem with me—a big one."
"Oh? If I call you 'boy,' you have a problem. If I call you 'hero,' you have a problem. You're just like a prostitute—impossible to please."
"I have a name, in case you forgot."
"Who cares? I like 'hero.' I think I'll stick with it."
"You—"
"Alright, hero, we're done here."
"Old man, don't make me—"
Vio's words stopped abruptly—no, his entire train of thought halted. He saw the old man fade away.
Even…
"Wake up, Hero!" The old man's voice echoed in the void, blending with a familiar hum.
Vio opened his heavy eyelids, the hum of the system lingering in the background of his consciousness.
[Wake up, Hero.]
"That bastard old man..." Vio muttered, forcing himself up with effort.
"So that's why you made the system call me that? You're screwing with me, you old bastard."
Lifting his head, staring at the surroundings, only for his eyes to widen in shock.
"A tent? Why the hell am I in a tent?"