Curse of an Assassin

I head back to my apartment with light steps and an even lighter heart. Since I didn't bring my wallet or phone, I decide to walk home instead.

I don't know if it's always like this, or if it's just because I'm in a good mood, but the morning feels beautiful. The air is crisp, and at 7 AM, the traffic isn't too heavy yet. Birds chirp occasionally, and the few people passing by greet me with cheerful smiles.

For the first time in a while, I deliberately choose to walk at a human pace, taking my time to enjoy it all.

By the time I finally arrive home, it's almost 9 AM. After a refreshing shower, I check my phone while preparing breakfast.

Two messages.

One from Andy—reminding me about our dinner tonight.

And the other from Thief:

[What is the nickname that his ex-fiancée said Quint Rauss had?]

Weird.

[Quite. Why?]

Less than a minute later, my phone rings.

"What is—"

"I think there's a 75% chance that you're Quint Rauss."

Thief cuts me off before I can even finish my question.

My brain stalls for a second.

"..."

"Score?"

I don't respond immediately. My brain is too dumbfounded to form a reply.

"You must be joking."

"I'm not. Let me explain."

"And why are you whispering? Where are you?"

"My dormitory," she whispers back. "Wait a minute, let me go outside first."

I frown. Why does she have to go outside?

But I wait in silence.

"Okay," Thief finally says in a normal volume. "So... I met this guy—"

"Aha…" I tease, already sensing something juicy.

"He applied for a job as one of my father's cybersecurity staff..."

"Ah, so you just met him?" My teasing intensifies.

"...Well, we did go on a date last night." I can hear her blushing. "Anyway, he's a genius... and he loves playing anagrams."

I grin. "Sounds like a fun guy."

I'm genuinely happy for her. After everything she's been through, I thought she might have a fear of men, but it seems like she's starting to open up again.

"So, after dinner, we… ahem… went to my dormitory and played anagram all night long."

"A guy stays at a girl's place just to play anagrams? Is he gay?"

"Do you want me to explain or not?! Why do you keep interrupting with useless comments?!" she barks.

I laugh. "Okay, okay, I'll shut up."

"So, we picked random words from our conversations and competed to make as many words as possible. At one point, I remembered one of your scorpions—Deathstalker—and he still won. Then, this morning, I woke up with its Latin name in my head—Leiurus quinquestriatus."

I listen silently.

"I played around with it and realized that its anagram spells Quint Quite Rauss."

I blink.

"Come on... that's a stretch."

"I know. But it's the only connection between you and the scorpion dream. I mean, Mrs. Rauss herself came to see you—twice—and claimed that you're her son."

Silence.

"Maybe… in some twisted way, his death wasn't real. Like Tim Chang."

Tim Chang.

The thought clicks in my mind. If I could pull off that level of faked death, why couldn't someone with more power and resources do the same?

"But… why?"

"I don't know."

Suddenly, a male voice speaks in the background: "There you are. Why are you outside?"

Thief muffles her phone's mic. "I'll be joining you soon."

I smirk. "Your mom?"

"Shut up!" she hisses. "I gotta go, Mom. Talk later, okay? Love you."

She hangs up.

I chuckle. But my mind is already elsewhere—spinning around Thief's theory.

The Tim Chang theory isn't far-fetched at all.

If I could stage a fake death, someone with more influence—like a general from Country A—could easily manipulate DNA records, news, and official documents to ensure his son's "death" was believable.

But... why?

That's the real question.

Why would my own father fake my death?

Was I a bad son? Did I humiliate the family? Or—was I a fugitive?

Maybe I did something terrible—something that should've landed me in prison... or worse, on death row.

I swallow hard.

Maybe I've always been an assassin. Maybe even before my brain was erased, I was already trained to kill. Maybe I got caught—maybe I was sentenced to death—and my father had to erase my identity to give me a second chance.

And that's why they wiped my brain.

If that's true... then I owe my father my life.

A warmth spreads through my chest.

For so long, I've been angry—furious that someone played with my mind.

But if it was for love?

If my father erased my memories to save me?

Even though it's still just a theory, it calms the rage inside me.

Should I Call the Rauss Family?

"No."

I whisper it to myself.

Let them live their peaceful lives.

Even though Mrs. Rauss came to see me, I could tell she was hiding it from her husband.

Maybe he doesn't want to remember me.

Maybe he's had enough of me.

And he made the right decision.

Because, at the end of the day… I haven't changed.

I'm still an assassin.

Sure, I'm smarter now—better at not getting caught—but my hands are still stained with blood. I kill people.

And the worst part?

I don't even regret it.

No.

I won't ruin their lives with my existence.

A sudden phone call interrupts my thoughts.

My work phone is ringing.

-

That evening, I meet Andy at the restaurant we agreed on in advance.

Ever since I broke up with Jennifer, this good friend of mine has been kind enough to drag me out for dinner at least once a week—probably to make sure I don't become a complete recluse.

As soon as I sit down, Andy grins. "I think you've lost your charm—both in love and work."

I chuckle but don't answer immediately, finishing my bite first.

"The truth is," I finally say, "I've rejected some job offers in the past two months. Six offers, to be exact."

"Why would you reject them?" Andy asks, raising a brow.

I take a sip of my drink before answering, my voice lowering. "Can you believe all six offers—each from different people—were for the same target?"

Andy frowns. "Who?"

I glance around to make sure no one is eavesdropping before responding in a quiet tone.

"Thief's father."

Andy's eyes widen before his expression turns grave. "Shit."

He exhales, shaking his head. "Not surprising, though. His opponent is a real demon."

I nod.

To be honest, I don't believe Mr. Whittaker is completely innocent either. But no matter what kind of devil he is, he's still Thief's father—and my partner's family.

So, of course, I rejected the job.

"Are you planning on being his personal bodyguard now? Like you did with Jen?" Andy smirks, clearly teasing.

"He has more than enough people protecting him," I answer seriously.

But my attention shifts suddenly as I catch a silhouette from the corner of my eye.

"Shit."

I quickly turn my head away and cover my face with my hand.

"What's wrong?" Andy asks, confused.

"Don't look to your right."

Of course, that only makes him turn his head immediately.

"Ooh…" he exhales in understanding.

But it's too late.

"Andy!"

A very familiar voice calls out cheerfully.

Andy plasters on a fake smile. "Hi, Jennifer…"

I lower my hand, forcing myself to face her. With all the coolness I can gather, I even manage to smile.

"Hi, Jen."

"Hi, Scott," she replies, her voice smooth. "I didn't expect to see you two here."

It's Sunday night—and the restaurant Andy picked is, well... more suitable for dating than casual dinners.

My face burns slightly.

"It's my birthday," Andy lies smoothly to save me.

"Oh wow! Happy birthday!" Jennifer smiles, leaning in to kiss him on both cheeks.

"Thanks," Andy mutters, stealing a quick side glance at me.

"There you are…"

A male voice interrupts from behind her.

A second later, a man approaches and slides an arm around her waist.

"I've been looking around for you."

Jennifer doesn't react much—but I don't miss the way she subtly removes his hand from her waist.

"Oh, Jeff…" she says, turning to introduce him. "These are my friends—Andy Vaccaro and Scott Bennet."**

Then, she pats his chest lightly before adding, "This is Jeff Donovan."

Andy and I shake his hand.

"We should go now, or we'll miss the movie," Jeff tells her.

"Oh, right," Jennifer nods before turning back to us. "It was nice seeing you both."

The rest of the dinner is awkward as hell.

Andy doesn't even bother teasing me anymore, sensing my mood drop to rock bottom.

But it's not just because I saw her.

It's because she was on a date—and not even with the same man she slept with last night.

She's moved on.

And I...

I definitely haven't.

Andy doesn't even dare to suggest clubbing afterward, which tells me just how bad my mood must look.

After dinner, I head straight back to my apartment, grab a few bottles of beer, and collapse onto the couch.

I let the TV play whatever while my mind spirals.

By my third bottle, I find myself moving automatically—dragging my feet toward the window, grabbing my spotting scope off the nearby table.

Before I even realize it, I'm already peering into Jen's window.

Dark.

Of course.

You idiot… she's still out on her date.

Or worse…

She's not coming home tonight.

My grip tightens around the scope.

I force myself to regulate my breathing.

"You should be happy for her."

A voice in my head whispers.

"She's living a normal life again. Isn't that what you wanted for her?"

I nod.

It's true.

She deserves a normal, happy life.

She would never have that with me.

But then why…

"Why does it feel like shit?"

I exhale heavily, setting the scope down.

I admit it—to myself, at least.

"I'm sad."

This aching, consuming sadness is my curse.

I will carry it for the rest of my life.

Because no woman deserves to be with me.

Not Jennifer.

Not anyone.

I sigh deeply, sinking further into the chair.

For the first time in my five years of memory…

I regret being an assassin.