A Girl and A Hitman - Chapter 4

Before departing, I contacted one of the higher-ups in the federation. “I failed to kill the target. I’m flying overseas to eliminate the terrorist organization. I’m sorry,” I informed them. They simply replied, “I see.” There was no reprimand for not contacting them sooner, and they didn’t seem surprised that I had failed to kill the girl. The higher-ups must understand that the girl was powerful enough that it wouldn’t be surprising for me to fail. I wanted to know who the girl was, but

I wonder if there are circumstances over there that they don’t want me to know about. But that doesn’t matter. Once I return to my country, I can pursue the girl again right away.

For some reason, I seemed to be looking forward to pursuing the girl. Perhaps I had always thought this way. My targets were always people who would die by my hand. But with her, she would continue to confront me without being killed, allowing me to observe her. And that would be far more interesting than any human observation I had done before.

And so I was retracing my thoughts from yesterday. Much of the information from the Federation to me is being shut out. The information given is filtered by them before it reaches me. Therefore, she might be a member of the Federation. Perhaps she was a top-ranking officer who once stopped me and ended up being pursued by the organization due to some mistake. It was a somewhat plausible theory. It also made sense that the higher-ups in the Federation didn’t find my failure suspicious. Moreover, even though I currently

The next day, I arrived at the first hideout of the organization. I had only brought one grenade. It wasn’t that I was underestimating the enemy. Extra baggage would only slow down my best moves. I had confirmed that one man had gone out. According to the documents, this man seemed to be the lowest-ranking member in the organization and went shopping at a fixed time every day. I felt that he lacked any sense of vigilance. Well, if he were a capable insider—specifically in

I lay in ambush in the blind spot at the entrance, killed the man who returned with a karate chop, and took the handgun he had in his pocket. Then I destroyed the entrance with a grenade. I keep saying it, but having fewer weapons is easier. The enemy will have high-lethality weapons and projectiles anyway.

A short play. When the smoke cleared, the bodies of thirteen men lay before my eyes. The bullets had just run out, so I picked up a convenient gun, slung one on my back belt, and held two in my hands. The guns were pre-loaded with bullets, and together with the magazines, there were 13 shots. It was well done. Imagining a Western, I twirled the guns in my palm and got used to them. One gun hadn’t even cocked the hammer

I cut off one of the corpse’s hands and used its fingerprint to unlock the door. Since only the index finger was needed for authentication, I cut off the rest and discarded them on the spot, placing the index finger in my pocket. I had a rough idea of the number of people from the documents, but it was clear from the presence that there were more than that. Nevertheless, I moved forward with excitement.

When I unlocked the second door and entered the next room, I almost killed two people. The fact that he reacted instantly to the arrangement of my muscles and my movements (of course, since I was facing ten people with three guns, if he had good reflexes, he could have avoided it, but it was still rare), judging by his posture, he was one of those “people with a certain level of strength.” It’s like a senior official of the federation, but there is an insurmountable gap between their strength and mine. The two men coordinated their attack on me but unfortunately, their movements only looked like slow motion when I watched them directly. I threw the two guns “really lightly” above my head. Calculated by the force of the throw and the motion due to gravity, it’s about one second. There is more than enough time. I deflected the first attack and grabbed one person’s arm during the follow-up. The attack that escaped from me was taken by the man whose hand was caught. I grabbed the head of the man who had started to fall backward with my right arm, spun him in the air, retrieved the gun with my left hand, and shot the heart of the man who had escaped at close range. The other man shot the top of his head with the other gun he had retrieved with his right hand before he finished falling. There was a watery sound, and my white shirt was stained red. The bodies of the men shot with guns were twitching convulsively. Seeing that, I felt the definition of death become ambiguous.

There were no more skilled fighters at this hideout. I killed one hundred twelve people in about five minutes and headed to the “next.” While moving, no one suspected the blood on my shirt was from a fight, as it was already red. It was a red shirt to begin with. It had turned completely red, so much so that one could say it was dyed entirely red. It was colored solely with blood that flowed from the arteries. This was the most difficult part of this infiltration.

Due to the considerable distance, I couldn’t wipe out the organization in a single day. After that, without needing to say much, I easily took down the three hideouts and decided to return to the hotel to sleep. I made sure not to let the smell of blood linger. I didn’t want to kill unnecessarily. What I thought about before sleeping was, of course, that girl. What if she appeared in my dreams? Could I kill her in a dream? I couldn’t help but laugh at myself for thinking

That night, I had a strange dream. A woman who seemed like she had been there for a long time, younger than me. However, she showed hostility towards me. I was around 18 years old, and she was probably around 14. It was a third-person perspective dream, and we were having a conversation like this.

“What are you reading?” the girl asks.

“…Twenty years later,” I answer. It is a novel by O. Henry.

What kind of story is it?

“A story about a girl whose parents were killed by a certain hitman, who then learns that the hitman killed her parents out of love for her and ends up falling in love with him.” It’s a lie.

“You’re a liar, it’s completely different.” In reality, it’s a story about two people, one becoming a police officer and the other turning to crime. However, although they fulfilled their promise to meet again 20 years later, the one who turned to crime did not realize that the other had become a police officer. The criminal talks about his success story and the promise made 20 years later, and after the police officer leaves, he is arrested by another officer. He took such measures because he didn’t want to arrest his old friend with his own hands.

“I didn’t know you had read it.”

It was sitting on the desk and I was bored, so I read it without permission.

When I woke up, the only thing I could remember was that content. The dream had ended. It was a short dream. However, there was a definite sense of discomfort.