Guest.

I was once a top-tier professional killer who lived by the blade.

Then one day, I was ordered to eliminate a couple, and I carried out the mission as I always did.

I planted a sticky bomb on the vehicle the couple was to board and detonated it as soon as they started driving. With a loud bang, the car was engulfed in flames, veered off the road, flew through the air, and flipped several times.

When I approached to confirm the kills, I saw the mangled, unrecognizable body of a man and a woman, half-charred, desperately crawling out of the wreckage while clutching a baby in her arms.

Call it a miracle, but the child was perfectly fine without a single scorch mark. However, the thought crossed my mind that the one holding the child could no longer sustain life.

At that moment, the woman grabbed my ankle with a hand whose skin had been completely peeled away, and she mouthed something while pointing at her child. In those eyes—in those eyes—I read not anger or resentment, but a desperate plea.

I picked up the child. Perhaps sensing that its parents were gone, the infant, who should have been crying loudly, only shed silent tears without moving a muscle.

Then the woman holding my ankle mouthed one last thing. I soon understood her intent and ended her life.

And I made a vow. With these blood-stained hands, I would protect you until the very end.