The blade clattered to the concrete floor, slick with blood. Li Cheng calmly pulled a cloth from his pocket and wiped his hands, stained deep crimson. He adjusted his glasses with a practiced motion, slid his coat onto one arm, and stepped out into the December night.
The air was biting cold, the wind slicing like a blade. He walked towards a sleek black SUV, parked under a broken streetlamp. As he opened the door, a voice buzzed in his earpiece.
"Sir… all bombs set."
Li Cheng didn't flinch. He removed the earpiece, crushed it with a deliberate snap between his fingers, and tossed it aside.
He loosened his tie and sat behind the wheel, exhaling slowly. He hadn't slept all night—his only plan now was to return home.
The engine growled to life.
He eased the car forward. As the vehicle picked up speed, the distant warehouse behind him erupted in flames—an explosion ripping through the silence, echoing like thunder across the abandoned district. But the black SUV didn't slow down. It cut through the wind like a knife, vanishing into the city's shadows.
Li Cheng didn't look back. He never did.
He had once been the right-hand man of Cobra, the most feared organization in the East. Loyal. Ruthless. Unquestioned. But now? Now, he was something else. Cobra had turned into a cancer—and he was the cure.
Working with Black Dragon, he had begun cleaning the mess Cobra left behind, one dead operative at a time. He knew their hideouts, their codes, their habits.They were his family once.Now, they were targets.
He checked his rearview mirror—just fire and silence.
The past was burning. And Li Cheng was driving straight into war.
__________________________________________________>>>>
The room was a mess—chips scattered across the table, pizza boxes stacked like ruins of a forgotten feast. One half-eaten slice lay abandoned in a greasy box. The couch was buried under blankets, clothes, and wrappers.
Max was sprawled on the sofa, eyes glued to the screen, devouring chips as a sci-fi movie played at full volume.
"BOOH!"
He yelped, almost flipping over.
"Oi—yo—" He stopped mid-sentence.
"Sara…?"
He jumped up, stunned. Sara stood there, arms wide open, smiling. Max rushed over and hugged her tight.
She smiled too. At least someone had waited for her. At least someone still loved her.
From behind, Hazel stepped into the room."Brother…"
Max blinked again, overwhelmed."How did you guys know I was here?"
Sara laughed, ruffling his hair."Little Max, time's changed—but New York hasn't. I know every corner of this city. You never even changed your condo's password. Though you did trash the place."
She looked around with exaggerated disgust. "Looks like a bunch of ghosts threw a rave party."
Hazel giggled. Sara grinned."Well, we're all here now. So how about we make the most of it? Let's turn this boring Sunday into a real Funday."
Both Max and Hazel nodded.
For the first time in a long time… they were together.And that was enough—for now.
____________________________________________________________________>>>
Sara cried the entire night. What else could she do? The family she had once thought would accept her… hadn't even looked in her direction."Why is my family so cruel to me... Why, mom… Where are you?" she whispered, burying her face deep into her pillow.
When morning came, her eyes were swollen. She already knew—no one was going to talk to her today. Nobody cared whether she existed or not. But her father… he still held half of her soul. If only she could speak to him—just once more.
It was Sunday, and she was certain where her dad would be. She rushed through her shower, dressed quickly, and came downstairs, only to see the breakfast table already cleared.She had come on time. Still, breakfast had been eaten. A sting of sadness pricked her heart.
Only Hazel remained, sitting silently, waiting.
Sara smiled gently and walked to her."Good morning, little Hazel."Hazel returned the smile. "Good morning, sister. How was your night?"
The question struck a chord. Sara's smile faltered, but she forced it back, fake and fragile."Well… I guess I slept well. I haven't slept in my room for a long time—maybe that's why."
Hazel understood, but said nothing. Sara dragged a chair beside her and poured herself a glass of milk, grabbing a toast.
As they ate, Sara asked, "Hazel, are you and Max happy here?"
Hazel looked at her sister, then glanced away with a shrug."Max? He's always out. Leaves early in the morning and comes home late to eat. Nobody asks where he goes or what he does. Since you left, he's been like this. He barely talks to Dad anymore."
Sara's heart sank.
Hazel continued, voice cold and matter-of-fact."As for me? As long as I stay in my room and avoid our so-called mutual mom, it's… bearable. Dad doesn't care about me either—not just you. He talks only to Max, and Max barely replies."Tears welled in Hazel's eyes. "This place hasn't been a home since Mom died."
Sara felt her heart tighten. Hazel took a shaky breath."And when you left… you don't know what happened. Dad locked me up in this house with security. Mom—when she feels like it—beats me. And no one stops her. I was only allowed to attend college because I promised… I promised I'd let them marry me off whenever they want."
Now Hazel was sobbing. Sara clenched her fists, consumed with rage and heartbreak."Why haven't you reached out to the law, Hazel?"
Hazel, eyes red, replied, "I'm still a minor… I have no job, nowhere to go. Max is an adult now, but me? Where would I even go?"
Sara pulled her into a hug, kissed her forehead."My brave Hazel… You don't need to worry anymore. I'm here now. I'll do something, I promise."
Hazel nodded slowly, comforted by Sara's presence. After breakfast, Sara rose to leave. Hazel sniffled and asked, "Where are you going?"
Sara paused, then turned back. "Is Max home?"
Hazel shook her head. "He left early this morning… Who knows where?"
Sara thought for a moment, then smiled. "Want to go for a ride?"
Hazel blinked, surprised. "Where?"
Sara grinned, grabbing Hazel's hand."Let's explore New York."
_____________________________________________>>>>>
It was quite late when Sara returned home with Max and Hazel. Although the two had wanted to stay at the condo for the night, Sara insisted on coming back—and so they all came along with her. The three of them stepped into the house laughing, carefree. Hazel held a cold drink in one hand, while Sara clutched several bags of chips.
Their plan was simple: a movie night in Sara's room.It didn't matter that tomorrow was Monday—who cared?
Still laughing and playfully teasing one another, they stepped into the living room—only for Hazel's smile to instantly vanish.
Standing before them was their mutual mother.
Furious.
Her voice cracked through the air as she glared at Hazel."How dare you, girl! How dare you go off with this crazy girl without my permission?!"
Hazel's eyes widened in disbelief. She pulled her arm free and instinctively stepped behind Sara. Her voice was firm, yet quiet."She's not crazy. She's my sister. Her name is Sara."
Her mother's expression turned sharper. "Oh? And now you talk back to me too?"
She stepped forward, hand raised—but before it could come down, Max stepped in front of her.
"You're not going to lay a finger on her… Mom," Max said, firm yet respectful.
Before he could say another word, a thunderous voice boomed from behind."And you! How dare you speak to your mother like that?"
It was Max's father—whose world revolved solely around his wife, the woman he believed was always right, no matter what. According to him, she was raising the children perfectly.
Then his eyes fell on Sara.
She stood motionless, like a criminal awaiting judgment—though her only crime was existing.
"Get this criminal's daughter out of my sight!" he snapped.
Tears welled up in Sara's eyes. Max stood frozen, unable to move.
Then the mother stepped forward and grabbed Sara's arm—only to be shocked when Sara suddenly gripped her wrist and twisted it back.
"I've endured enough," Sara said coldly, eyes blazing with fury. "I've had enough."
Her mother screamed in pain, trying to pull away."Let go of me! Monster! You're insane!"
But Sara only laughed—a chilling, hollow laugh that didn't sound like her at all."Yes, I'm a monster. Want to see just how monstrous I can be?"
Her eyes burned like those of a wild, deranged animal. Max and Hazel stood in stunned silence, fear creeping across their faces.
Then came a voice—calm, cold, and commanding."Max. Hazel. That's you two, right? Get to Sara's room. Now."
It wasn't Sara.
It was Layal.
Her tone was both icy and protective. Max and Hazel obeyed without question, rushing toward the room in confusion and fear.
Now, only Layal remained in the living room.
She brushed past the mother and stepped toward the father. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her ever-present knife and pressed it against his throat.
"Do you have any idea how much Cherry cares about you?" Her voice was low, sharp, and unhinged. "No? Then what if I just rip out those eyes that never even looked at her properly?"
Her father froze, eyes wide, silently absorbing the version of his daughter he had never seen before.
Not until Layal emerged.
Then she stepped back, spat on the floor, and said in a cold whisper,"If Cherry is all emotions… then I am her courage. And if anyone dares lay a hand on her—then they'll have to go through me. Every. Single. Time."
With that, Layal yanked her mother by the hair, lifting her like a ragdoll and hurling her onto the sofa. Then she turned and walked toward her room.
Inside, Max and Hazel were still trying to make sense of what had happened, whispering nervously about Sara.
As Layal stepped inside, her cold eyes settled on them. A faint, chilling smile crept onto her lips. She closed her eyes—and when she opened them again…
Sara stood before them.
Quiet. Still.
And entirely changed.
Her eyes were still wet.
Sara glanced down at the knife still clutched in her hand. Then, slowly, she peeked out toward the lounge—toward the hallway outside her room. Her father remained frozen there, as still as a statue. Her mother lay slumped on the sofa, tears streaming down her face—whether they were genuine or false, Sara could no longer tell.
And when she turned back to look at her younger siblings, she understood everything that must've happened in those brief ten minutes.
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
In her mind, a thought whispered, "Thanks."And then, as always, a voice replied from within:"I will always be there… to save me."Strange. And yet, no longer unfamiliar.
Sara understood now. These two souls sitting before her—Max and Hazel—they needed to know everything. From the very beginning.
She turned, locked the door behind her, and walked toward them with soft, steady steps. Sitting down beside them, she noticed the way they huddled together, frightened, unsure.
But she gave them a gentle smile."Don't be scared. It's still me… I'm Sara."
And then, she began.
With a trembling voice and a heart full of shadows, Sara began to tell the story—everything that had happened over the past two years. The pain, the silence, the nights she thought she'd never survive.
She spoke... and spoke...
And somewhere between the beginning and the end of her memories—night turned into day,and day slipped back into night.
Time forgot to move.
And the room, once full of fear, became a sanctuary of truth.
Sara kept speaking until morning.
Max and Hazel said nothing—only listened. Hazel's tears were real now, silently slipping down her cheeks. When Sara finally fell silent, the room was swallowed by a stillness so profound, it seemed even Max wouldn't watch a movie in such quiet.
But even after her voice faded, the weight of her words hung heavy in the air.
They were still in shock.
At last, Max broke the silence."Gosh, Sara… all of this? And you're telling us only now?"
Sara didn't answer right away. Then she looked up, voice quiet."What else could I have done, Max? Who did I even have back then? No one knew. No one wanted to know."
Hazel leaned forward, cutting in softly, her voice firm with emotion."But now you have us. And whatever this Li Cheng stuff is, and whoever else is involved—we'll face it together. Right, Max?"
Max nodded immediately."Yeah. Together, we'll figure it out, Sara."
Hazel pulled her into a hug—tight, warm, and full of unspoken promises. Max wrapped his arms lightly around both of them.
And in that moment, for the first time since she had left Maera…
Sara cried.
Not out of fear, or anger, or pain—but because something inside her had finally loosened.
They smiled gently, holding her close. After a while, Sara nodded through the tears and whispered,"Okay…"
She stood.
Her steps were slow, deliberate—as if something important had shifted.
And finally, she walked over to the corner of the room, where an old box lay—the one her mother had left behind for her.
She reached for it.
And opened the lid.
_________________________________________>>>
Z Group headquarters, 9th floor boardroom. A long wooden table, soft gray lights, projection screen at the front. Around 8–12 board members, including the General Manager, HR Head, Marketing Lead, and Legal Advisor.
He enters in a tailored black suit. Confident face but eyes show heaviness. A respectful silence falls in the room.
He stepped forward and took his seat at the head of the table. The room fell into stillness.
Just then, a man stood up. It was the General Manager.
"We were waiting for you, sir."
Zero responded in a cold, composed voice:
"I know. Let's begin."
His secretary swiftly flipped through a stack of files and laid three before him.
"Sir, this is the review of ongoing textile exports to China. This one is the approval for the new denim line proposal. And here—" she paused slightly, "—are the CEO authority handover documents."
Zero's fingers, which had been flipping pages with professional calm, froze. His eyes—previously lowered to the table—slowly lifted. He sat upright.
"Hmm."
Everyone in the room noted the tension in his shoulders, the quiet stiffness in his posture.
At that moment, a man—who had been silent the entire time—leaned toward the General Manager and whispered something. The GM looked at Zero and nodded slightly. Soon, the room was abuzz with soft murmurs, employees whispering to one another.
Zero felt the subtle shift in the room. He composed himself instantly.
"What's your department?" he asked sharply.
The man hesitated.
"I'm from HR, sir."
Zero gave a slight nod, as if calculating.
Then, without a word, he picked up the pen and signed the authority transfer documents. As the final stroke of ink dried, he spoke, firm and absolute:
"From now on, this company will be called Z Group."
A stunned silence followed. Several people straightened in their seats. Someone started to object—
"But Mr. Robert Anthony had—"
Before he could finish, Zero shot him a deathly stare.
"From now on, it's Z Group."
Then he turned to his secretary:
"These documents are fine. Now bring me every file related to our employees—workers, and all factory operations—into my office right away."
He looked at the HR officer directly:
"Especially everything tied to finance. I want it in the next ten minutes."
He stood up smoothly, buttoned his coat.
"Thank you so much, everyone. This meeting is over."
Nobody dared speak. One by one, they rose from their seats and exited the room—shoulders tighter than before, faces changed.
One thing had become clear to all:The easy days were over.
The room was now empty.Zero stood alone, facing the giant glass window, his thoughts spiraling.
How was he supposed to rebuild everything his father had left behind?
How could he reshape the legacy into something his own?
_________________________________________________________________>>>
"You've already made your choice without asking—Never come back, even if you want to.I've learned to live without you,So just go, wherever life takes you…"
The lyrics played softly in his ears through the AirPods, echoing the ache he couldn't say aloud.
The diary lay open again in front of him. Next to it, an untouched cup of noodles had long gone cold and soggy. The lights were all off in the apartment, and despite the biting chill of December, the windows were still wide open, letting the icy air turn the whole place into a frozen shell.
Sam leaned back on the sofa, head tilted, eyes closed. Whether he was absorbing the song's melancholic vibe or drowning in his own reflections, even he couldn't tell anymore.
What was clear, though, was that he still hadn't fully accepted Zero's truth—or the silent confessions he had once heard from him. His eyes were swollen now.He didn't know how long he had been crying.
His face had changed. The sharpness was fading. He had lost weight. The boy who once devoured two ramen bowls now barely touched a cup of instant noodles.And why?Even he didn't know.
"When people ask what happened,What lies will I tell them?There's no art to hiding tears that deep…"
Another tear slid down his face, tracing along his jaw and disappearing beneath the collar of his hoodie.
Suddenly, the ringtone of his phone broke the silence.He opened his eyes, blinking sluggishly.The screen lit up: "Mark Calling."
Sam's brows knit together in confusion.Mark? Why now?
He let the phone ring the first time, assuming it was a mistake. But when it rang again, he picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey, brother! How are you?" Mark's cheerful voice buzzed on the other end.
"Yeah… I'm fine. You?"
"I'm good too. Actually… Mom and Dad were missing you, so they asked me to call. I mean… you don't take Dad's calls, so—"
"Okay, okay. Fine. Just hand the phone to Dad," Sam interrupted quickly, already regretting that choice.
"Hello, Samael," came his father's voice—stern and business-like.
"What is it, Dad? What now?"
"When are you coming back? Your exams are over. It's time for you to return and take charge of the business."
Sam sighed deeply, rubbing the center of his forehead.
"Dad, I've told you before… I'm not interested in your so-called business. I want to open my own coffee shop. That's where my heart is."
There was silence—brief, cold, and sharp.
"You want to waste your life on some petty café? In Japan? With that street rat of a friend of yours? What's so hard about just coming home?!"
The words lit a fire in Sam's chest. His voice cracked with rage and disbelief.
"Zero isn't a street rat—he's my friend. A better one than anyone else I've ever had! And yes, I want to stay here. I'd rather die than go back and live under your command. I studied what you wanted, followed your path long enough. Now I'm choosing mine."
There was a thunderous pause.
"Then we're done. You are no longer our concern. No more money. No more transfers. Stay with your pathetic friend—don't bother coming back."
Before his father could finish the sentence, Sam ended the call and slammed the phone on the table.
He pressed his hands to his face, breath trembling. His thoughts were crashing into each other—chaotic, endless, loud. Like a thick fog clouding his entire mind.
A few moments later, he grabbed his phone again, pulled on his coat, and walked out.
Fifteen minutes later, he was seated at Jacob's bar.
The music pulsed like a heartbeat—loud, wild, consuming. People danced, some holding wine glasses, others with bottles, their bodies moving in hypnotic freedom. Some laughed, others sat in corners lost in their drunken haze.
Sam sat quietly, wine glass in hand, watching them all like a stranger in someone else's dream.This was his first time drinking wine.
With each sip, he felt a strange clarity—the kind that made him realize what Zero must have felt that day. The pain, the loneliness, the helpless anger.
A tightness pulled across Sam's chest. A sorrow he didn't want to name settled into his bones.
He stared blankly at the dance floor and muttered,
"Jacob…"
"Yeah?"
"Why do people dance?"
Jacob, pouring drinks behind the counter, paused. Sam's question pulled him into a moment of thought.
"I think… some dance to feel joy.Others… to forget.This place is full of both kinds.People who lose themselves in music and movement.Just for a few seconds… it feels like life doesn't hurt anymore."
Sam looked at Jacob, quietly absorbing every word.
"Bro… how do you say things like that?"
Jacob chuckled, shaking his head.
"You'll learn, man. Life has a way of teaching all of us."
He pushed Sam's glass forward and topped it off again.
Sam downed the next drink, stood up, and walked toward the crowd.Eyes closed.Arms lifted slightly.
He let the rhythm take over. The beat thudded through his veins, louder than the thoughts in his head. He started moving—slowly, then freely.
Trying, maybe just for one night, to forget.
From the bar, Jacob watched him.He smirked. Shook his head.This was normal.
He glanced down at his phone—a smiling photo lit the screen. A flicker of longing passed over his face. He inhaled deeply, pushed the feeling down, and got back to work.
In my aimless wandering, I turned into a madman —Why did I never understand the beauty of simplicity?
To Be Contneud...