Jouska 0.1

A loud explosion woke me up from the sleep I had fallen into. I opened my eyes and found the darkness strewn with stars and firecrackers spewing colorful flares in the air.

Door! Door! Door!

Fireworks erupted in the night sky of Seoul at 00:00 local time.

Amidst the excitement and the faint shouts of happiness of some people from below, I heard something vibrate in my long black pants pocket.

A message with an unfamiliar number just came in-a greeting for the new year 2023 with a trumpet blowing emoji. My lips twitched, then formed a tight smile. I knew who the messenger was although I didn't know how he got a temporary cell phone number, but he must have had many ways.

Without the need to reply, I pocketed my phone again. Recalling the text messages in my head, I calculated that five minutes had passed when the fireworks went off at 00:00.

I put back on the black mask around my neck. I put on the gray trapper that had been idle after rechecking the equipment I had brought. Everything is in order. It's time for action.

A concrete building covered in black glass from the ground floor to the twentieth floor stood firmly in the center of Seoul.

I stood at the top of it. The winter wind blew through my black sweater layered with a knee-length cream coat. Staring down using binoculars. While the other hand grasped a long-barreled rifle with a firing range of 2,300 mater.

The traffic was busy as usual. Cars were passing by on their way to their destinations, going back and forth. I watched and searched for a few seconds. A black BMW car with the same license plate as the one in the message finally appeared in the crowd.

I peered through the gap in the half-open rear car door. A silhouette of a middle-aged man with a shaved head is seen laughing with a sexy woman beside him. Not just one woman, but two, left and right, clinging to him.

A long-barreled rifle replaced the binoculars. I stepped to the end of the building, one foot on the border with my body slightly bent. Through the shot, it was clear that his bald head was clearly the target.

My eyes narrowed as I locked onto the target at the same time as my fingertips squeezed the trigger. The sound of the rifle blast was camouflaged by the fireworks in the sky.

Bullets whizzed by at the speed of light. It happened in an instant. The car came to a halt as the hysterical screams of two women watched the man's body collapse with a gaping hole in his shaved head.

Mission accomplished. I smiled at the traffic that was no longer orderly down there. I put the rifle back in the golf bag, slung it over my shoulder and left the place.

***

My name is Han Chanyeol which means light, given to me by the woman I call Eomma, a person whose figure has long since disappeared from my memories.

Age ... I don't know exactly how old I am, more like can't remember. Probably around two-seven or twenty-eight years old. I also don't really remember when I saw the world. And every time I try to remember, I see only darkness. It was as if the inside of my head was a bottomless pit.

A blend of espresso, chocolate and milk flowed down my throat. The sensation is warm and pleasant. I sip it with a plate of pancakes for breakfast at a table outside the café, occasionally watching a group of teenagers in uniform walking after the New Year's holiday.

I quickly downed half of the warm mocha in the cup, as well as the few pieces of blueberry pancake on the plate. After swallowing, I checked the watch in my hand. It was half past eight in the morning.

I heard whistling from the right, the tone seemed to be seductive. When I turned my head, I found three teenage boys looking at me. One whose hair was dyed honey brown winked at me. The other two were whispering and glancing. Where else but at me.

When they noticed I was also looking in their direction. The teenage boy who whispered earlier threw a rare kiss away accompanied by laughter from his two friends.

Tck, the behavior of kids these days.

Rising from the table, I finished my breakfast this morning.

One of the two friends of the honey-brown teenager elbowed her lightly when I walked up to them, thinking I was going to say hello. All three looked enthusiastic as I walked closer.

My right hand moved nimbly as I passed by the table where the three teenagers were hanging out. While my face was apathetic, especially when one of them-the one with honey-brown hair-shock, followed by a surprised tone from his two friends at the sight of the affogato that had just spilled on his lap, right between his legs. I turned my head, let alone care, as I heard the swearing of the honey-brown teenager for deliberately spilling his drink.

It's only early February, but the shops along the street are already crowded with some selling flowers and chocolates decorated with red and pink trinkets.

I used to love the color red because eomma said red means love. Now, red reminds me of the blood of someone who died at my hands.

Walking on the sidewalk, among the passers-by, I faintly heard a melodious strumming. Its heart-wrenching tone leads me to the source of the sound.

Just fifty meters from the intersection, a young man was playing the violin. Beside the street violinist's red sneakers lay a gigbag containing several won sheets.

Looking at his figure, I was reminded of my old self. Well, if I do say so myself, his playing wasn't bad either. I didn't recognize the title of the song he was playing, probably a self-penned song.

I continued walking while putting both hands in the pockets of the covert coat I was wearing.

He smiled as I passed his while putting a won sheet in his gigbag without stopping. After walking away I realized one thing about that street violinist, he's speech impaired.

***

A newspaper that reported about the murder on New Year's Eve was placed on the table in front of me.

"Remember Kim Hyunshik?" A man wearing a black worsted wool suit sitting in front of me asked. I glanced at the bold letters of the headline before answering, "Yes, still."

Lee Hajoon, the man I was talking to smiled slightly. "I want you to approach his son."

I blinked. Then looked at him closely.

"This is your next assignment," he said casually, but undeniably.

I replied in a flat tone, "Is there any other assignment besides this?" I refused the assignment this time.

"Why?" Hajoon raised one eyebrow.

I had a good reason to refuse without answering.

"Is it because he's Alpha?" she guessed.

I looked away for a moment. His guesses almost never missed.

I heard a faint chuckle escape his mouth before he said, "Do you know what kind of approach I gave you as an assignment." Hajoon did not ask.

I was still silent. The next second, Hajoon laughed briefly. "Your hatred for alphas has never diminished apparently."

"You know that," I retorted in rejection of his order.

There was a brief exhale from him. "This is the last one. After this, I'll make sure you never have to deal with an alpha again." Hajoon looked at me seriously. "Other than me," he continued.

I hated alphas, and this alpha male in front of me was an exception, though he did not completely escape my hatred for his pushy attitude.

"I promise," he said

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