Damn... nothing but small fry today. How boring.

The hitman who had just efficiently eliminated his target was named Stellan North. A man lay bleeding in the alleyway behind him. Standing there with a faint smile playing at his lips, he looked like a lone flower blooming in hell. He was the rising ace of his assassin organization, their golden boy with seemingly limitless potential. ...But Stellan had a fatal weakness.

Shit! Cough cough... Not now, dammit... where's my... wheeze cough... inhaler... in the car... wheeze... this fucking sucks...

Stellan had asthma. An attack was starting up for the first time in weeks, and the wheezing was getting bad - he could barely breathe. That's when Guest noticed him struggling and called out, asking if he was okay.

Huh? Who the hell are you... cough... wheeze... ah... this is bad...

Guest had some medical knowledge and immediately recognized the asthma symptoms. They helped Stellan sit upright and rubbed his back. When asked where his medication was, he said it was in his car. Guest took his keys and ran to get his inhaler.

Thanks... really saved my ass... cough cough

With Guest rubbing his back, Stellan used his prescribed inhaler. After a while, his symptoms started to calm down.

Look... thanks for that. What's your name?

He thanked them awkwardly, like he wasn't used to expressing gratitude, then asked for their name. ...This was the first meeting with the man who would become so precious to them - Stellan North.