Chapter 3 Part 9

Jeong Tae-ui, who had been resting his chin on his hand and rubbing his lips with his fingertips, gazing at the screen with a puzzled expression, suddenly found his eyes meeting those of the man. The moment the man’s pitch-black eyes, like glass, looked his way, Jeong Tae-ui felt his heart drop.

The man, who was probably looking at the recording camera installed high up on the wall, blinked once and then smiled faintly. As a smile spread across his previously expressionless, gloomy eyes, Jeong Tae-ui realized that the man might even be younger than him. His appearance was hard to gauge his age, but a very faint trace of youth remained on his smiling face.

The man tilted his head slightly and approached the camera. Then he extended his hand. The screen became completely covered by his pitch-black gloves.

However, before the screen was completely covered in pitch-black, his hand paused. Beyond the receding hand, another man appeared behind him. He was quite a large man for an East Asian.

Someone nearby whispered ‘Kiyomi’ upon seeing the newly appeared man. Jeong Tae-ui racked his brain, wondering where he had heard that name, and soon realized that this man was the previous occupant of the room he was currently using, having been injured in the last training exercise, hospitalized, and now recuperating.

The man named Kiyomi was holding a knife in his hand. Its blade was dulled so it couldn’t cut a person. Kiyomi, despite his pale blue face, didn’t back down and stared directly at the man. He seemed to be saying something, but no sound was recorded in the video.

The man calmly approached Kiyomi. As he advanced without hesitation, neither slow nor fast, tension spread across Kiyomi’s face.

Kiyomi, seemingly making an instantaneous decision, spun the knife half a turn so the blade faced down, re-gripped it, and stepped closer to the man. He then raised the hand holding the knife while swinging his other elbow from the outside, aiming to strike the man. It was a situation where a weakness would be exposed, whether the man was hit by the elbow, or bent his waist or moved to avoid it.

The man slowed his steps. He reached out and braced himself against the wall beside him, then used the recoil from his fingertips to push off the wall. No, to be precise, he himself sprang sideways.

Jeong Tae-ui stopped the fingers rubbing his lips. His gaze had caught onto something strange.

On the white wall where the man’s fingertips had rested, a black mark remained exactly where his fingers had touched. It was as if water had seeped out of the black glove and stained the wall.

What could that be?

There was no time to think.

Kiyomi’s elbow struck the man’s chest. It was a blow powerful enough that it wouldn’t have been strange if his ribs had broken.

But the man merely frowned slightly. Even as he did, his hand seized Kiyomi’s wrist, which had been descending towards him, and he smiled faintly upon seeing the dull knife Kiyomi held.

The man twisted Kiyomi’s wrist. In the silent video, unheard screams erupted. The knife he had been holding fell heavily to the floor.

The man lightly tapped his chest a couple of times, as if the area where he was hit was only now starting to hurt. But his face, as he tilted his head, remained expressionless, like a mannequin.

Jeong Tae-ui unconsciously clenched his fist. A corner of his chest was growing cold. The surroundings were silent, not a single breath audible.

The man, who had hold of Kiyomi’s other arm, wrapped one hand around his neck. Kiyomi’s neck fit easily into the large hand encased in a pitch-black glove. The man briefly stroked Kiyomi’s neck, as if caressing it.

Again. Again, a black trail followed where the man’s hand had passed. Over Kiyomi’s neck.

Jeong Tae-ui frowned, glaring at the mark. His glove couldn’t have been soaked in black mud from rolling in a mud puddle, so what on earth was that…?

Then, he suddenly realized.

It wasn’t black. That mark was such a deep red it appeared pitch-black. Perhaps even the glove itself wasn’t truly black. That vivid red, soaking the glove…

The color drained from Jeong Tae-ui’s face. The moment his mind grasped the true nature of that vivid red, the man in the video, still gripping Kiyomi’s neck, positioned his thumb at a right angle just above the collarbone and pressed down with a single, swift motion.

“That’s impossible…!”

The words involuntarily escaped his lips. But he couldn’t finish the sentence, partly because the clearly recorded reality was unfolding before his eyes, and partly because his spine had chilled, and his tongue had frozen.

The finger that had pierced the middle of the neck slowly withdrew. That finger was stained an even darker color.

Kiyomi’s eyes rolled back faintly; he twitched in a spasm and then went limp, and the man carelessly dropped him to the floor. Rubbing his own chest, he grimaced as if displeased, but then shook his head and turned away.

He again stood facing the camera directly. Jeong Tae-ui rubbed his chilled lips with his fingertips. His eyes met those of the man on the screen. His face was still pale and composed. The fact that this face in no way resembled someone who had just pierced a person’s neck made it even more horrifying.

He looked up at the camera for a moment, then suddenly let out a small laugh. Soon, as before, the black glove approached and covered the screen completely, and with that, the edited video ended.

The video then continued with other men brawling, but the man’s final smile was vividly etched onto Jeong Tae-ui’s retina. His chest felt chillingly cold.

“What was that?”

Jeong Tae-ui muttered in a voice too faint to even be considered a monologue. A low answer came from beside him.

“That’s the crazy bastard from the Europe Branch. The madman, Rick, whom no one in the Europe Branch dares to touch.”

Tou’s complexion was also hardened as he replied in a shaken voice.

“It’s not just the Europe Branch. He’s already notorious throughout the Americas Headquarters and all branches as someone you can’t deal with.”

Carlo Sagisawa’s heavy voice came from behind him.

“League-row of the Europe Branch. Otherwise known as Madman Rick.”

“League-row…”