It was a regular day when the sun’s rays reflected mightily, passing through the thick white clouds. Like the usual routines, students were rushing busily to finish the list of requirements in each of their subjects. A clumsy girl in low pigtail hair rushed past the swarm of students going up to the floors where their classroom is located. Dark-haired, bangs falling on the level of eyebrows, fair complexion, approximately 5 feet and 4 inches tall, slender, jolly, clumsy.
She sped up clumsily to the fourth floor where her classroom is located, stopping only to bow courteously to professors. Jogging her way to the classroom, she let her backpack fall clumsily from her shoulder and walked inside. The sign on the top of the door panel indicated that she is already in her final year in High School.
A man wearing faded black pants and matching coat that conceals more than half of the white buttoned-up long sleeve polo and its striped black and blue neck tie stood up from where he was sitting on the garden chair. Steadying his footing, so that his black leather shoes crunched the fallen leaves upon is feet, he roamed his eyes around the campus. He trailed his gaze from the black-painted gate, to the array of trees that lines the school grounds, to the school buildings where only a few students stood outside, to the classroom where the pigtail-haired girl went into, and finally to the small, black, leather notebook in his hands.
He scribbled a few more notes in his notebook before tucking it in his coat's inside pocket. Taking a deep breath of fresh morning air, he walked his way towards the building he has been looking at for a while now. He looked utterly out of place in a school uniform. Its thick material failed to hide his well-toned body and his stern, collected face with prominent jawlines spells authority. His eyes, hawk-like, give anyone the impression that he's not someone to mess up with. He looked elite, classy, manly, and far-fetched from the brawny, unkempt and long-haired boys who are usually seen inside the campus. It's definitely not unexpected that his presence arouses murmur and too much attention than necessary.
This is a good start for a great mission. The girl doesn't look like someone who's hard to convince. She doesn't look like someone from a well-providing family. A little persuasion, a little money, a little charm and she's definitely going to give in. He's been taught how to gauge the personality and weakness of a person and he's been good at it. He could do it to anyone without being suspicious. The only person whom he cannot quite read is his master, who seems to be wearing a thousand faces you wouldn't know which is which. But this girl? She doesn't look like someone who's hard to please. He has the money, he has the strength, the charisma and the looks and he's going to use it to his advantage.
He stopped in front of a semi-open classroom door and knocked five times before opening it fully, revealing himself to about fifty pairs of eyes looking directly at him. Flashing a dazzling smile addressed to the female professor in front of him, he entered the room casually and gave her a perfectly courteous bow. Giggles erupted from the room and as he raised his head, he looked directly into the professor's eyes saying, "Good morning professor. I am Okcat, the transfer student from the United States. Pleased to meet you." He turned his eyes to the expectant crowd of teenagers and, like what he'd foreseen, he saw shining black eyes of a girl with bangs that fall on her eyebrows staring at him.
A man in his mid thirties smiled as he listened to the person on the other line speak. He leaned comfortably on his office table and nodded his head in appreciation. He uttered a brief 'thank you' and ended the call.
Sighing to himself, he pulled out his drawer and took a small notebook. Taking note of the date and time, he scribbled a few words on it and tucked it safely on the pocket of his black office suit.
The good news lit his gloomy day and he rewarded himself by retiring to his house earlier than before. He wouldn't need to work overtime by now; not anymore when everything he wanted are going on as planned.
However, by the time he reached his car, something quite unnatural caught his eyes. A dark silhouette of a man sitting in his car, which was parked two blocks away from his, was unbelievably disturbing. He had seen the very same car for about two weeks now. He stared curiously at the direction of the car and scanned it for any unfriendly signs. Seeing nothing peculiar, except for the fact that the man seated on the driver seat seemed to be staring back at him, he decided to ignore the growing paranoia and anxiety in his heart. He opened the door, sat and buckled up before he drove off.
The moment he reached his house, he immediately jumped off the car and hurried his way to the door. Now his unsettling feeling was confirmed. Brushing his right hand against his hips, his cold fingers skimmed past the heavy metal gun tucked in a holster attached to his belt. The lights in his mansion were turned off and the only light present was the one coming from the masters' bedroom in the second floor. He tried to swallow the worry gnawing at him but to no avail.
Undeniably, this was the most dangerous gamble of his life but he could not let his family suffer the consequences of his actions. He had no spare time to think who betrayed his trust. Right now, he had a family to rescue.
But before he could even make a move to push the front door open, a crippling pain stabbed his right leg, and another shot at his lower back. The muffled sound of the gunshot reverberated in the dark night as he fell helplessly on the moist ground.
Earlier the evening, he thought he had already won the game. And now, by the way the situation was asserted, it looked like he had assessed the state of things wrongly.
He stared at the man whose gun was pointed at his chest, directly over his heart. Through the look in the man's eyes, he knew that he didn't want to do what he had done and was about to do. Nevertheless, he knew that the final judgement regarding the length of his life was not for the gun-armed man to make.
He looked sympathetically at the assassin. Reaching out a hand, he slipped it inside his coat. The coarse metal pressed against his chest harder. "Don't move!" a strong, authoritative voice commanded.
He didn't listen. He continued his way while staring boldly at the wide eyes of his killer. Coughing out the pressure in his chest, he tasted the bitterness of his own blood.
"I know that you have no choice but to kill me," he said, his breathing labored. He took out a small notebook and reached out to hand it over to the wide-eyed guy. With trembling hands, the other guy snatched the notebook away; his other hand gripped the gun tighter.
"I know you can't kill a child," the blooded man whispered with much difficulty. He tried to catch his breath as his vision began to darken. Holding his chest as he fought for air, he whispered something barely audible before gripping the gun. The other man's eyes widen even more in surprise as his target pulled the trigger by himself.
A soft sigh pronounced his passing and the guy lost his grip of the gun. It fell on the ground with a soft thud. Staring at the notebook the guy, now dead, had given him, his mind turned into blank.
He is a murderer.
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