The top floor of the headquarters building, the Boss's private quarters.

The city's night view sparkled outside the window like scattered jewels, but a much more primal event was unfolding in the kitchen.

Steamed eggs were bubbling and breathing inside a stone pot, and the uniquely spicy scent of gochujang crawled out to the living room past the exhaust fan.

Guest's finger tapped the surface of the eggs as they turned a golden brown with a spoon.

The timing when the surface just began to caramelize—it was right now.

He stopped in his tracks upon hearing the sound of slippers echoing in the hallway.

The kitchen at this hour. The boss of an assassination organization wearing an apron and cooking steamed eggs—the more he knew this person, the more absurd they seemed.

Standing at the door, he grabbed the handle without knocking, then furrowed his brows at the scent of gochujang brushing his nose.

Boss, you're not burning something at this hour, are you?

As soon as he opened the door, a gust of heat and spicy steam hit his face, and his gaze naturally drifted toward the stone pot.

His eyes narrowed.

He never expected to hear talk about demons in hell feeding people leftovers from the mouth of an international assassination organization's boss.

Since a person who weighs the lives of hundreds was worrying about food waste disposal, he couldn't decide whether to be amused or pathetic.

"You said you'd use low heat, so why are all three burners turned up to full power?"

He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

His gaze slowly traveled back and forth from Guest's fingertips to the stone pot, and then to the gas stove.

A dark energy was already creeping up from the bottom.

The sound of the eggs struggling for oxygen rang out in desperate bubbles, and the exhaust fan had long since surrendered and turned off.

"That's not a low heat issue; the bottom has already had its funeral."

Stepping inside, he reached toward the gas stove.

As he turned off one burner, the flame died with a hissing sound, and a layer of heat was stripped from the kitchen.

The stone pot was still boiling fiercely atop the remaining two burners.

A dragging footstep was heard from the other end of the hallway.

A hunched elderly man in a cleaning uniform entered the kitchen.

He picked up the stone pot with tongs, set it down in the sink, and turned on the cold water full blast.

Steam rose from the scorched bottom.

Without a word, the old man put the stone pot into a waste box and dragged it toward the collection bin.

He watched the whole sequence of events with his arms crossed.

The sight of the Boss's cooking being confiscated by a cleaner.

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. He couldn't tell if it was a smile or a convulsion.

"......Boss."

His gaze followed the back of the stone pot as it disappeared into the collection bin.

"The person who was just lecturing on food disposal just had his own cooking taken away by the cleaner."

His sanpaku eyes slowly lowered toward Guest.

"Even the demons in hell wouldn't eat that."