Living as an Assassin {2}

The stench of blood still clung to Kang Soo's clothes, a phantom smell that mirrored the gruesome images seared into his memory. Three lives extinguished, three bodies unceremoniously disposed of – a task he'd performed with a chilling efficiency born of desperate compliance and numb horror. He'd helped Nam-yoo, the boy who was both monster and… something else. A twisted comfort, a perverse sense of kinship, had blossomed amidst the carnage, a bizarre counterpoint to the gut-wrenching grief over his sister's murder. He'd watched her die, her lifeblood staining the cobblestones, her eyes wide with terror reflecting his own. The memory clawed at him, a relentless beast tearing at his sanity.

Yet, as he walked beside Nam-yoo, the boy's small hand clasped tightly in his own, a strange calm settled over him. Nam-yoo's grip was surprisingly strong, unwavering, and in that unexpected firmness, Kang Soo found a strange solace. It wasn't the comfort of a friend, or a brother; it was something deeper, something primal. It felt… paternal. The weight of responsibility, the burden of guilt, momentarily eased as he found himself unconsciously mirroring the boy's steady pace, his own steps falling into a rhythm dictated by Nam-yoo's smaller strides. The boy didn't speak, didn't need to. The shared silence hummed with unspoken understanding, a terrible pact sealed in blood and shared trauma.

The city lights blurred into streaks of color as they walked, the neon glow reflecting in the slick sheen of the rain-washed streets. Each step felt heavy, each breath labored, yet Kang Soo pushed onward, his resolve fueled by a mixture of fear, guilt, and that unsettling sense of… protection. He was protecting Nam-yoo, yes, but perhaps, in a twisted way, Nam-yoo was protecting him too. From the crushing weight of his own actions, from the abyss of his own despair.

They arrived at Nam-yoo's apartment, a luxurious high-rise overlooking the sprawling city. The building's sleek, modern design stood in stark contrast to the brutal reality of their shared secret. Inside, the apartment was a study in opulent minimalism. Ji-Yuri stood by the dining table, her expression unreadable, her movements precise and efficient. The table was set with an exquisite meal: gleaming silverware, crystal glasses, a meticulously arranged spread of food that seemed almost obscene in its extravagance against the backdrop of their recent atrocities. The air hummed with a silent tension, the scent of expensive perfume a thin veil over the lingering metallic tang of blood. The contrast was jarring, a stark reminder of the chasm between the boy's privileged world and the bloody reality they had both created. Kang Soo sat, his gaze flitting between the opulent surroundings and Nam-yoo's impassive face, the weight of their shared secret pressing down on him, a suffocating blanket woven from guilt and a terrifying, fragile bond.

Kang Soo's eyes darted around the apartment, taking in the sleek lines of the minimalist furniture, the panoramic city view visible through floor-to-ceiling windows, the subtle gleam of expensive artwork on the walls. He'd seen poverty, felt its gnawing hunger in his own belly, and the stark contrast between that harsh reality and Nam-yoo's opulent surroundings was almost overwhelming. His gaze lingered on a meticulously crafted sculpture, its polished surface reflecting the city lights like captured stars. He ran a hand over the smooth, cool surface of the dining table, the polished wood a stark contrast to the rough-hewn wood of his own childhood home. Every detail, from the plush carpets underfoot to the subtle scent of expensive sandalwood incense, spoke of a wealth beyond his wildest imaginings.

The sheer scale of the apartment was staggering; it was more like a luxurious gallery than a living space. Each room seemed to whisper of a life lived in comfort and privilege, a world away from the grime and desperation of the streets where he'd spent his life. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow: Nam-yoo, the boy he'd just helped dispose of three bodies, was obscenely wealthy.

The words tumbled out, a mixture of awe and disbelief, tinged with the unexpected warmth of the nascent paternal feeling he was beginning to experience. "You're rich!... uh… Dad!"

Nam-yoo's reaction was subtle, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, a slight tremor in his usually steady hands. The title, the implication of parenthood, seemed to unsettle him, yet a gentle smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a small, almost shy expression that softened his usually hardened features. It was a fleeting glimpse into a vulnerability Kang Soo hadn't expected.

Ji-Yuri, ever efficient, stepped forward, her voice calm and matter-of-fact, her words dispelling the lingering uncertainty. "Yes," she said, her tone devoid of emotion, yet somehow comforting in its directness. "Master Nam-yoo is an assassin. Obviously, he gets paid well. Even on his days off." She paused, her gaze unwavering. "His monthly salary is over 250,000 won. He also receives bonuses, sometimes 300,000 won, sometimes 350,000 won, depending on the boss's assessment of his work. Hardworking or… insane." The last word hung in the air, a stark reminder of the dangerous path Nam-yoo walked, a path Kang Soo now found himself inextricably bound to. The casual mention of such exorbitant sums felt surreal, a stark contrast to the grim reality of their shared secret, the blood still staining the invisible threads that bound them together.

Kang Soo let out a shaky breath, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. The relief was palpable, a wave washing over him, easing the tension that had coiled tight in his chest. "Oh well!" he exclaimed, a touch of forced cheerfulness in his voice. "At least he took me in as a son… I just hope he doesn't do anything… to me." He kept a slight distance from Nam-yoo and Ji-Yuri, his body language betraying his lingering apprehension despite his words. The fear, though lessened, still clung to him like a shadow.

Ji-Yuri, sensing his unease, moved to reassure him, her movements graceful and deliberate, her voice soothing like a balm on a raw wound. She wanted to project an image of calm, of safety, to ease his anxieties. "Do not be afraid of Master Nam-yoo," she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "He will treat you as a son. He took me in as a maid, and he has never, ever hurt me or harassed me."

Nam-yoo's face flushed a faint crimson at her words, a blush creeping up his neck. The memory of his initial awkwardness with Ji-Yuri during her first week as a maid flooded back – the hesitancy, the uncertainty, the gradual easing of tension as they both adjusted to their unconventional dynamic. He remembered the initial discomfort, the careful dance of power and dependence, the slow, almost imperceptible shift towards a more comfortable, even respectful, relationship. Ji-Yuri's words brought a wave of warmth, a quiet satisfaction, and a touch of embarrassment.

Kang Soo's apprehension began to melt away under the warmth of Ji-Yuri's reassurance. A genuine smile spread across his face, replacing the nervous tremor of moments before. Trust, fragile yet real, began to bloom in his heart. He looked directly at Nam-yoo, his gaze steady and respectful. "I see! I guess I'll start calling you Father Nam-yoo then? Or just Father?"

Nam-yoo, his initial fluster subsiding, offered a small, almost shy nod. "Just Father," he replied, his voice soft, his gaze meeting Kang Soo's with a newfound warmth and acceptance. The unspoken promise hung in the air, a fragile bridge built on shared trauma and an unexpected bond of family. The weight of their shared secret remained, but for now, in the opulent setting of Nam-yoo's apartment, a tentative sense of peace settled over them.

Kang Soo's laughter echoed through the spacious apartment, a sound both relieved and joyous. Ji-Yuri's soft chuckle followed, a melodic counterpoint to his hearty mirth. The initial awkwardness had dissipated, replaced by a burgeoning sense of belonging, a warmth that spread through the room like sunlight. The shared laughter was a testament to their growing bond, a bond that seemed to thaw the icy exterior Ji-Yuri usually maintained, replacing it with a softer, more approachable demeanor. Her smile, though still reserved, held a genuine warmth that surprised and delighted Kang Soo. It was a smile that spoke of acceptance, of a burgeoning trust that extended beyond the confines of their unusual family unit.

The air buzzed with a quiet energy as Ji-Yuri and Nam-yoo efficiently prepared a room for Kang Soo, their movements precise and coordinated, a silent ballet of domesticity that belied the dark secrets they shared. When everything was ready, Ji-Yuri approached Kang Soo, her arms resting casually on her hips, her posture conveying a quiet authority that was both reassuring and respectful.

"Young Master," she said, her voice calm and clear, "your room is ready. Please follow me."

Kang Soo, his heart brimming with a mixture of relief and excitement, leaped from the couch, his youthful exuberance unrestrained. "Alright!" he exclaimed, a wide grin splitting his face. He followed Ji-Yuri, his steps light and eager, his eyes shining with a newfound hope.

Ji-Yuri opened the door, revealing a room that seemed to shimmer with opulence. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, illuminating the polished wooden floors, the plush, velvety carpets, the gleaming surfaces of the meticulously crafted furniture. The room was a symphony of textures and light, a haven of comfort and luxury. The walls were adorned with tasteful artwork, the air filled with the subtle scent of fresh linen and expensive perfume. Every detail, from the intricately woven bedspread to the hand-stitched curtains, spoke of a life of comfort and ease, a stark contrast to the hardships Kang Soo had endured. The room was not simply a bedroom; it was a sanctuary, a testament to his newfound security.

"This will be your room for your entire life, Young Master," Ji-Yuri stated, her voice soft yet firm, a promise whispered in the luxurious silence of the room.

Kang Soo gazed around, his heart swelling with a profound sense of gratitude and relief. The crushing weight of debt, the constant worry for his family's well-being – all of it seemed to melt away like morning mist. He was safe now, sheltered from the harsh realities of his past. He was with an assassin, an assassin who was richer than anyone he'd ever known, and a maid who would care for him, supervise him, and ensure his well-being. The future, once shrouded in uncertainty, now seemed bright, promising, and filled with the unexpected comfort of a newfound family.