The car shot out of the hotel driveway and merged into the night traffic, its engine purring like a silent beast.
Behind the wheel, the short-haired girl glanced at the man beside her. A faint smile played on her lips.
"So, Mr. Bodyguard—oh wait… Mr. Ghost. You're alive again," she teased lightly.
The man beside her—Mr. Marcus—didn't react. His calm, emotionless face was half-lit by the passing streetlights.
"But, boss," Yuki said curiously, her voice playful but sharp, "why all that drama back there? You could've just sniped Elias from the next building. Clean and simple."
Marcus finally looked at her, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.
"Because, Miss Yuki," he said, "sometimes one arrow hits two targets. And no one ever knows who fired it."
Her brow furrowed. "Two targets?"
"Roman and Elias," Marcus replied quietly. "Both contracts came in at once. I just delivered them together. Besides…"—his tone turned almost lazy—"I needed a few days off. So I wrapped things up early."
Yuki's eyes widened, half in awe, half in disbelief.
"Seriously, you're unbelievable."
They drove in silence for a while, the city lights flashing across the windshield like fleeting ghosts.
Everyone in the underworld knew the name Mr. Ghost—an assassin who killed without ever pulling the trigger himself. His methods were so precise, so indirect, that no one ever saw the hand behind the death.
Yuki puffed her cheeks like a sulking child. "Fine, fine. Now I get it."
Marcus chuckled softly. "Good. Now let's disappear before someone else decides to play hero."
The car vanished into the dark stretch of highway, leaving only the echo of its fading engine behind.
The car pulled up in front of a small two-story house on the quiet edge of the city.
Mr. Marcus stepped out without a word.
"Good night, Mr. Marcus!" Yuki called out cheerfully from the driver's seat.
Marcus didn't even glance back. He simply walked to the door, unlocked it, and disappeared inside.
"Grumpy old ghost," Yuki muttered under her breath, puffing her cheeks before speeding off into the night.
Inside, Marcus loosened his collar and tossed his keys on the counter. The silence of the house felt almost comforting. He flicked on the TV and switched to his favorite cartoon channel.
"Too much work for one day," he mumbled, heading to the kitchen.
He opened the refrigerator, grabbed a tub of ice cream, and dropped onto the sofa.
A few quiet minutes passed. Then—clink!
Something fell in his bedroom.
Marcus froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. He set down the ice cream slowly, every muscle alert.
He rose from the sofa and walked toward the room. The hallway was dark, the air still. He pushed the door slightly open.
The room was pitch black.
Reaching for the switch, his fingers were inches away—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three gunshots shattered the silence.
The sound of footsteps followed, careful, measured.
The door creaked open wider, and a young woman—about twenty-four or twenty-five—stepped inside, pistol raised. Her breath was steady, her eyes sharp. She flicked on the light.
The room was empty.
No body. No blood.
Just the faint smell of gunpowder and the soft hum of the ceiling fan.
She frowned, scanning every corner, gun still aimed forward.
"Where the hell did you go…" she whispered.
And then—somewhere behind her—a faint, cold voice replied,
"Wrong house to visit at night."
As the woman turned around, Marcus swung a rod-like object at her head.
The blow landed hard — she collapsed instantly.
Moments later, when she opened her eyes, she found herself in Marcus's bedroom.
Her hands were chained behind her back.
The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls.
Marcus sat calmly on a chair in front of her.
"You bastard… I'll kill you!" she shouted, pulling against the chains.
The iron rattled but didn't give way.
Marcus smirked. "Mind telling me why you wanted me dead?"
Her voice trembled with rage. "You killed my parents. I won't forgive you."
Marcus leaned forward slightly. "Ah… so you're Mira."
He chuckled. "Sorry, sorry, I did kill your parents. Please forgive me, madam."
Mira's anger burned hotter.
Her eyes glistened with fury and grief as she struggled again, but Marcus just watched — calm, amused, and unbothered.