The back of the turn behind bushes was dead quiet.
Just rusted pipes, cracked cement, and a wall stained with something that looked like blood but had long dried into memory.
Daniel stood there, chest rising too fast. His left palm still gripped the envelope. The one that showed up in his locker this morning.
"Level 2 Hit — XUX"
He had laughed. Called it a prank. Crumpled it, even. But in his gut, he knew.
It wasn't a f**king joke.
Now, here he was, with a man who had no name. No expression.
Just a long coat, calloused hands…
…and a knife.
His punch didn't even affect him a little bit. He was like a lone deer, surrounded by death.
The man took one slow step forward. His boots made no sound.
Daniel didn't move. Couldn't.
His thoughts weren't screaming. They were silent.
Like the world was waiting.
The man didn't waste time. "They said you might fight back."
His voice was plain. Like he was commenting on the f**king weather.
Daniel's blood ran cold.
This was real.
He was going to die if he didn't do something.
The hitman stepped again.
He lunged.
Daniel moved before he could think.
The knife came down—
He raised his left hand.
CHUCK.
The blade sank through his palm with a sickening, wet crunch.
His vision went white.
"AAAGGHH—F**K!"
He dropped to his knees, blood spurting from the wound, splashing across the dirty cement. His arm shook violently, nerves screaming, tendons pulling back like snapped wires.
But he'd done it.
He'd planned it.
If the guy aimed for his chest, he had to block it. Even if it meant losing his f**king hand.
Better the palm than the heart.
The man stared down at him, eyebrows raised ever so slightly.
"Oh," he said. "Got some guts."
Daniel ripped the blade out with his other hand, teeth clenched so tight he thought they might crack. He stumbled back and stripped off his coat, wrapping it tight around his arm. Blood soaked it instantly. He tied it like a tourniquet, breathing ragged, eyes wild.
"I'm not f**king done," he gasped.
The hitman grinned. Just a little.
Daniel lunged forward, swinging his wrapped arm like a shield. A desperate, sh*tty one—but all he had.
The man stepped aside, calm, precise.
Daniel felt it.
The knife, again.
CHUNK.
Straight through the coat. Into his forearm.
Another scream ripped out of him, hoarse and raw.
He collapsed to one knee.
Vision swimming.
The pain wasn't sharp anymore. It was dull. Spreading. Heavy. Like it was trying to pull him under.
He was going to die.
No one knew he was here. Not Sunny. Not Isac.
CRACK.
The sound came first.
A sharp, violent kick to the hitman's ribs sent him flying sideways, smacking into the wall like a ragdoll. The blade clattered to the ground.
Daniel blinked up, barely conscious.
And there she was.
Eira.
White hair falling over one shoulder, school jacket half-zipped. Calm, cold, carved out of f**king ice.
Daniel's voice was barely a whisper. "Wha… Why? I told you to—"
She didn't look at him.
"Why am I helping you again?" she said quietly.
Then she walked forward, slow, controlled. Her steps echoed. She wasn't rushing. She didn't have to.
The hitman scrambled to get up, breath ragged.
"Didn't feel like watching someone die today."
That's all she said.
Then she moved.
Not like a student. Not even like a fighter.
Like a ghost that had learned violence as a second language.
The man lunged.
Bad decision.
Eira dodged the swipe like it was in slow motion. Grabbed his wrist mid-swing, twisted—CRACK—he dropped the knife.
She grabbed his head and brought her knee up, hard.
THUD. Blood flew from his mouth.
Another spin. Elbow. Back of the neck.
WHAM.
He collapsed. Groaning. Trying to crawl.
She didn't let him.
One step. Her heel slammed into his ribs again.
CRUNCH
This time he stopped moving.
Daniel was still kneeling, half in shock, half in awe. His coat was soaked through. His hand was mangled. His arm felt like it didn't belong to him.
Eira crouched beside the man's body and pulled his phone from his coat. She scrolled like she knew exactly what to look for.
Found it.
The last message from the XUX handler:
"Hit Daniel. Send confirmation."
She typed with one hand.
"Done."
Then tossed the phone into the trash beside them like it meant nothing.
Finally, she turned to Daniel.
"I'm Eira," she said.
Daniel stared at her like she'd just said she was God.
He was pale, lips cracked, eyes wide.
"…W-WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'you?'—?! WHAT THE F**K JUST HAPPENED?! AHHH, MY HEAD HURTS-"
He rolled over onto his back, howling in pain.
Eira gave the faintest smile. Just a flicker.
Then walked away.
Her shadow stretched long behind her, swallowed by the building's corner.
But as she walked, something stirred in her mind.
A memory.
A voice—. Not hers.
Someone else, long ago.
"Didn't feel like watching someone die today."
She didn't know why it echoed now.
Or why it hurt to remember.
Next Morning
Daniel dragged himself toward school. His hand was wrapped in actual gauze now, stitched like a horror show. His left arm was still bruised, bandaged under his jacket sleeve.
Everything hurt.
He saw Eira up ahead.
"Yo," he called out.
She turned slightly, not stopping.
He walked beside her. "So… are we, like… friends now or what?"
She blinked. "Friends?"
There was a pause.
"…Sure."
She said it like she was still figuring out what the word meant.
Daniel grinned faintly. "Cool."
------
Daniel dropped into his seat, trying not to wince.
Isac leaned in. "Where were you yesterday, man? Sunny was going through Pheno withdrawal. We needed those cat pics."
Sunny looked over with a deadpan expression. "Watch your mouth, kickboxer. I don't need those, you aren't wearing your protective gear today, be careful."
Isac choked laughing. "I'm gonna put that on a f**king billboard."
Daniel chuckled, head leaning back.
He looked across the room.
Eira was at her desk. Silent, and carefree.
Like yesterday never happened.
Like she did not save him from near death.
But Daniel hadn't forgotten-
How strong she was. How precise. How ready. How cold, moving like a shadow.
And how she knew about the hit.
He stared, something cold settling in his chest.
"Who are you?"