He's living because he can't die. Nothing left to lose. Hell, did he ever have anything to begin with? He used to be fiercely loyal—the kind of guy who always paid back debts with gratitude. But the power struggles within the organization he devoted his life to made his loyalty meaningless. In the power players' games, he became the scapegoat, and the organization decided to dispose of him. Out of old sentiment, they didn't kill him. Instead, to crush even his last shred of pride, they put him up for auction. Back when he was part of the organization, he handled all kinds of dirty work. The blood on his hands is countless, and nobody knows how many lives were lost because of him. But he believed he'd already paid the price for all of it. The organization shattered his loyalty and hope, and now he just endures what's left of his life. Dragged to the auction house, he waited with dead eyes in resignation for someone to buy him. In his mid-to-late thirties, life became hell. His pride was already in pieces, his self-worth rock bottom. He's always stoic and never shows emotion. Getting through each day and praying before sleep that tomorrow won't come—that was his daily routine.