"Why? What have I ever done to you?"
On a construction site, a bloodied man growled, eyes fixed on the dark ominous clouds outside. It was raining heavily, but his crystal-clear voice echoed through the empty building.
"You should have remained a sales manager, Paul. Numbers, graphs, and reports—that's all you are."
From the shadows, a young man in a black suit emerged, flicking a lighter on and off.
Paul couldn't lift his head; he knelt there, motionless. But he was desperate to know one thing.
"Smith... Why me?" he asked, gathering all his strength.
"What a shame, Paul. I never imagined a genius like you could be so stupid. Have you never wondered why my father gave you all the wealth... and married his only daughter to you? Think, my brilliant CEO. Use that fucking brain of yours."
Smith lit a cigarette and smoked leisurely, giving him time to reflect. But Paul froze like a corpse waiting to rot.
"Hmm… Hey, don't die yet. Let me tell you a secret."
Smith squatted down and blew smoke onto Paul's crimson face.
"I'm not his biological son."
The words caused a slight ripple in Paul's eyes.
Smith was pleased to see such a reaction from him. He tapped the cigarette's butt, and with a devilish smile, he continued.
"Yes, you heard it right. And your wife—the one you think is my sister—is actually my lover. Well, we're more than lovers. It was her father who separated us."
Paul didn't react this time; he had guessed it since the day they married. The only reason he stayed was his daughter.
"He's already dead. Now it's your turn. By the way, I forgot to tell you the dirtiest one. Your daughter is also not—"
Paul lunged at him, did not let him finish. His hands aimed for Smith's neck, frantic to strangle him. But Smith blocked the attack before it could even reach. He twisted his hands and landed a heavy punch on his face.
The previous wounds hadn't healed, and now another lethal hit spun Paul's head. Dizzy, he passed out.
"Shit. I must admit, you poor folks are tough... like cockroaches."
Smith shook blood off his hand and stared at Paul, who was lying lifeless nearby. He walked over, grabbed his hair, and dragged him mercilessly.
Paul was too weak to resist. The last of his strength had already been spent on that failed attack.
Smith pulled him to the edge of the open floor, where strong breezes stung his wounds. Without wasting any time, he lifted him by the throat.
"You know what? I wanted to torture you more. But your wife—sorry, my sweetheart—begged me to make it quick. So, Paul... see you in heaven."
And he dropped him.
From nearly the sixty-ninth floor, Paul fell. In the air, he felt no pain—not even from the fresh punch. Yet, after so many attempts, his eyes remained closed.
"Damn this life. Damn that bitch."
He cursed everyone responsible for his demise. But one in particular, he cursed most—his late father-in-law.
"Good that you died. Or else, I would've killed you with my own... Ahhh..."
All of a sudden, a sharp pain struck from the front. His breathing hitched. He felt something was pulling his very soul from his body.
Before he could understand what was happening, a strange yet familiar voice fell in his ears.
"Young Master, open your eyes, Young Master."
"I am not dead?"
He tried to open his eyes, and to his surprise, succeeded.
The first picture Paul saw was of an elder, who held Paul's head on his soft lap. He was looking at him dearly.
"Who… who the hell are you?" Paul shouted as he got up. The elderly man's attire, especially his robe, freaked him out.
"Stay back. Don't come any closer." He warned as the man tried to approach.
"How come I sound like this?"
In the middle of his confusion, the elderly man spoke again.
"Young Master, it's me. Old Lao. Your servant, your protector."
Old Lao stepped back, obeying the command.
Paul, instead of focusing on Old Lao, shifted his attention toward the chattering crowd behind him. He couldn't believe he could hear them from so far away.
"Has he gone mad or something?"
"Obviously. Who forgets one's own servant after a single hit?"
"Look, his family is also present here—lower your voice."
"So what? Is there anything to hide? Everyone here knows he's a good-for-nothing."
"Do you know? He is crippled."
"Really?"
"His mother became pregnant again?"
The noise kept ringing inside his mind, as if banging his eardrums. He clutched his head, trying to stop it, but failed. The pain increased as the time passed and he screamed.
"…Stop, help..."
Just then, a figure flew toward him and without hesitation, slapped him across the ears.
The slap was so hard that his body crashed into the corner of the platform. He hadn't seen that coming, only felt as if a hammer had struck him. But the noise problem was solved.
As he tried to rise on trembling legs, a voice deep within chimed:
[Host has successfully bound]
[Please verify you're not a robot]
[Complete the Task: Spit on the approaching person's face.]
[Failure results in complete erasure from the world]
"Bang. Bang. Bang."
The sound of heavy boots brought him back to reality. He turned to see, only to utter a single word.
"Fuck."
The person coming was none other than the one who had slapped him.