The room was wide, yet almost empty. The only thing that stood out was a large frame hanging right above the carved wooden door.
Inside the frame was a photograph of a woman in a semi-military uniform. Her face was unclear; light from the opposite side obscured it, leaving only a faint silhouette.
Afternoon light pierced through the open wooden window, the curtains tied to the side. The beam of light slanted into the room, sweeping across piles of papers on a long table and a large black dragon-carved sword leaning against it.
Amidst the dim glow, someone bent over the desk, pen moving ceaselessly. She did not turn, as if the world outside her writing mattered nothing.
That figure was Zuan Flat, usually addressed as Rector Zuan. She was a woman with white hair and brown eyes. The ends of her eyes sloped slightly downward, as if they hinted at her gentleness.
Rector Zuan remained immersed in her writing. She kept moving her quill across the yellowish paper. Occasionally she dipped it into a glass container filled with black ink whenever the writing began to fade.
At the moment, she was dressed in classic medieval attire. A white blouse embroidered with gold, paired with plain black trousers without the frills of a gown—giving her an air of both authority and ease for her age.
Whenever fatigue struck, she stretched her body. She would lift her arms upward, toss her braided hair to shake off the heat, then fix the messy strands with her hands.
For a while, as she drowned in her writing—a sudden voice emerged before her.
"Rector."
The voice was flat, cold, and heavy. Listened to closely, it could make the hair on one's neck stand.
Rector Zuan glanced up. "What is it, Fynn…?"
A man by the full name of Fynn Flat. He stood about a hundred and seventy centimeters tall and favored wearing blackish-purple clothing, a style that covered up to his neck, with a metallic-studded belt around his waist.
He shared certain features with Rector Zuan, the most striking being his hair, the same shade of milky white.
Fynn stared straight at Rector Zuan. His bangs covered half of his red eyes, while his hands were folded behind his back.
"I… want to quit this job, Rector," Fynn said. His voice was calm, yet cold.
After hearing what Fynn wished to say, Rector Zuan returned her gaze to her writing. "You… want to quit?"
"Yes. I want to quit." Fynn answered directly without hesitation.
Rector Zuan kept writing, her pen scratching across the yellowish paper. A few seconds passed, then the movement stopped. The pen was set down gently, as though she feared waking something from the page.
Slowly, she raised both hands, clasping them before her lips. Her eyes sharpened slightly, until finally, she spoke.
"… You do realize you can't just quit as you please?"
Fynn fell silent for a moment. "… Yes, I know, Rector."
"Then why?" Her gaze bore sharper and deeper into Fynn's eyes.
Fynn's mouth clamped shut at the question. He lowered his head slowly, the crescent earring on his ear swaying faintly with the motion. His eyes lingered on the fur carpet beneath his feet for several seconds before he looked up again.
"I… I'm just tired of killing people, Rector," Fynn declared firmly.
At that, the Rector fell silent. Her fingers tapped the desk three times, lightly, as if her thoughts were sinking into a deep current—before she finally reached her decision.
The Rector smirked. "… Hahaha, very well. I'll grant you permission to quit, but only if you follow one condition first."
'A condition?'
"The condition is that you must accept an engagement to a noblewoman… whom I have already chosen for you!" she continued, leaning back in her chair with arms crossed behind her head.
Fynn raised an eyebrow. "But Rector, what does my resignation have to do with being engaged to some noblewoman?"
The Rector paused briefly, then smiled faintly once more. "The reason? You don't need to know. If you truly want to quit your job now, all you need to do is accept that condition."
Fynn's eyes widened at the reply, then he lowered his gaze. His stare fell upon his own shadow on the fur carpet. His thoughts tangled. Both options pierced him from either side. Accepting meant living without peace. Refusing meant returning to being a killer.
'The same. Both are torment… but at least one path might still grant me freedom.'
Silence stretched for a few seconds. Then Fynn lifted his gaze back to Rector Zuan. With a flat yet firm tone, he said:
"… Very well, Rector. I will accept the condition."
The Rector froze. "… Oh. I did not expect you to accept it."
'Aren't you the one who left me no other choice?'
She touched her chin. "Hm… But very well. Since you've agreed… I will inform the family of your fiancée later."
"But before that…" She lowered her hand from her chin, sitting upright again. "Come closer first…"
Fynn grew wary of her sudden command. He felt something unpleasant awaited behind it.
"Why—"
"Just. Come closer…" she cut him off.
Fynn studied her face intently. Her eyes were now closed, accompanied by a smile that seemed far from genuine—only heightening his suspicion.
'That smile… clearly means something else.'
But knowing she was his superior, Fynn had no choice but to obey.
He exhaled deeply. "Very well, Rector."
He stepped forward twice, then halted, as though the very air of the room resisted his movement.
Rector Zuan rose from her seat. From above, her gaze pressed down—and the difference in height forced Fynn to bow slightly even while standing straight.
Slowly, her hand lifted. Its shadow fell across Fynn's face before—
Thud!
A jolt of pain struck his crown. Fynn grimaced, breath catching short. "Ugh…"
"I told you already… to call me Mother…" the Rector muttered, her voice low, yet each word steeped in anger.
Fynn rubbed the sore spot. "Sorry, Rec—"
A sharp scoff cut him off. A piercing stare froze him.
Fynn stiffened, quickly correcting, "I mean… Mother."
The Rector watched him with weary eyes. Deep inside, she knew that stiff mouth could never call her "Mother" without sounding false. Still, a fragment of hope lingered—that one day, Fynn could say it like other children did to their parents.
A long sigh slipped from her lips, her shoulders sinking slightly. "Hah… never mind. Don't force yourself. You can come again tomorrow. For now, leave."
Fynn dipped his head. "… Very well, Rector."
He turned and walked away. His back receded until he stopped at the door.
He paused, as if remembering something he couldn't leave behind. Then, with a stiff tone, he bowed deeper. "In that case… excuse me, Rector."
"Yeah... yeah. Go," the Rector replied, half tired, half resigned.
Fynn grasped the cold golden handle, pressed it down slowly, and vanished beyond the corridor light.
Silence blanketed the room. The Rector turned toward the open window; the evening breeze slipped in, brushing her aged face. Wrinkles deepened as she exhaled a long breath.
"Hah… may this engagement soften your nature, Fynn…"
***
In a place surrounded by blooming, colorful flowers—Fynn walked slowly, back turned to a fountain reflecting the red-orange glow of dusk.
The eastern wind brushed his face, carrying the fragrance of flowers filling the garden. He stopped, closed his eyes briefly, and drew in a long breath—letting the scent seep deep into his chest.
'Hah… delightful…'
In the midst of his breath, Fynn caught something—faint, like a humming from the side garden. His eyes snapped open.
'… Whose voice is that?'
He followed the tune with careful steps, his footsteps light, as if sneaking. The closer he came to the shrubs edging the garden, the clearer the sound became. Until at last—
Fynn's eyes widened. 'A woman?'
Behind the knee-high shrub, a girl sat kneeling. In her hands, she caressed a blooming rose. Her gaze was gentle, her pink eyes shimmering like dew-kissed petals, adorned with a faint, serene smile. The evening light shone on her, making her seem as though she belonged to another world.
Unknowingly, Fynn froze. A warmth crept across his face, cracking his coldness for a fleeting moment. His eyes could not tear away from her.
Then, without warning, the girl slowly turned her gaze. Her pale-pink hair fell over one eye, while her stare shifted… and landed right on Fynn.
For a moment, her pupils dilated. Her head tilted slightly, like a child just realizing something.
Fynn stiffened. The instant their eyes met, he quickly looked away, stepping as though nothing had happened. But when he dared to glance again—
His eyes widened. "What the—?!"
The girl was now bound by coarse ropes. Two figures in black cloaks and crimson masks stood beside her; one hefted her small body onto his shoulder, then sprinted toward the shadowy forest at the garden's edge.
Fynn could not remain still. His jaw clenched, his eyes sharp toward the forest. "Damn…"
He leapt over the shrubs and dashed forward. Each stride struck the ground hard, his speed surging. Wind lashed against his face, yet his expression did not waver—as if the air had no power over him.
Just before reaching the dark forest gate, Fynn growled inwardly. 'Tch. Impossible to catch them by the normal path.'
His eyes swept the treetops, locking onto a branch still glowing under dusk.
'Got it.'
His steps quickened; his leg muscles tightened, veins straining beneath his skin.
With one forceful thrust, he launched into the air, landing on the sturdy branch. The wood vibrated beneath his feet.
Once there, he crouched, thighs taut, drawing in a deep breath. Veins bulged along his neck, his face rigid with focus.
"… Three… Two… One."
BOOSH!
His body shot forward. In an instant, Fynn streaked like an arrow loosed from its bow, splitting the air at unnatural speed.
***
"Hahaha! The boss will be thrilled we captured this girl!" The man's rough voice echoed through the trees as he ran with the girl slung over his shoulder.
"Mm~ of course!" his partner, a woman, replied with a playful tone. Her breathing was steady, her strides in sync with his.
The orange evening light flickered through the leaves, dancing across their plain crimson masks. Their shadows flitted swiftly, barely touching the thickening forest.
The man glanced sideways. "By the way, why does the boss insist on us taking this girl?"
"… Who knows, that's not our concern, Darling~" she giggled sweetly, then leaned closer. "What matters is… once we deliver her safely, the reward will cover our wedding party~!"
The man went quiet for a moment, then chuckled as he faced forward again. "Hahaha! Right."
As their steps pounded the damp earth, suddenly the forest around them fell silent. Where birds once chirped, no sound remained!
"Uh… wait a second." The woman stopped, eyes uneasy. "Darling, you feel it too, don't you?"
The man nodded slowly. "… Yeah. The forest suddenly feels too quiet. Like something—"
From the dark depths of the woods, something thin gleamed in the orange light—darting swiftly, slicing the air, straight toward the unsuspecting masked man.
The woman's pupils widened behind her mask. "Darling…! Look out!" She leapt, shoving him aside.
"What the—?!" The man stumbled, reflexively dropping the burden from his shoulder. The bound girl hit the ground with a hard thud, dust scattering.
Slash!
The man toppled backward. As he turned, his eyes widened—his partner was already hoisted into the air, her body ensnared by thin gleaming threads. Like an insect caught in a sudden trap. Her body twisted, blood dripping from torn flesh.
"Da… rling… ru… n…" Her voice broke. The threads tightened, slicing deeper—
BAAM!
Her body burst in a crimson explosion. Blood splattered across tree trunks, soaking the earth, even striking the man's face as he stared in disbelief. From the shredded strands of web, all that remained was a pair of wide eyes, still wet with their final tears.
"FINA…!" his scream echoed, swallowed by the forest's silence.
From the shadows, a cold voice rang out. "Well… well… well… To think masked people like you could be that romantic."
The man struggled to rise, knees trembling. His frantic gaze swept the darkness. "Wh–who are you?! Show yourself!"
A pause. Then the voice answered flatly. "… Who I am? Why do you need to know?"
"Why are you interfering with our work?!"
"Work?" The tone dripped with mockery. "You're a fool. The reason I'm here should already be obvious."
The man gnashed his teeth, blood dripping from his bitten lip. His eyes blazed with fury. "C–come out now! I'll avenge Fina…!"
"… Very well." The voice sank, cold. "If you want to see me… then look closely."
From a branch cloaked in darkness, a figure slowly descended. The thin threads that shredded the woman now stretched, weaving footholds in the air. Standing upon them was Fynn, his gaze piercing, his killing intent thick as fog.
The man's eyes widened in terror. "Y–you! The Killing Strings…!"