Privet Drive.
"How can I stay still? My son hasn't written back to me in a long time."
Watson melted the sealing wax and poured it onto the flap of the envelope.
He pressed it with his bronze seal, then lifted it once it had cooled, leaving an owl emblem on the envelope.
Listening to Watson's complaints, Mrs. Wick brought out a cup of black tea.
She took a strip of bacon from the breakfast table and fed it to the big-headed gray owl, Kiki, who happily opened its beak and ate.
"You send him letters every week. John said his sixth year is very busy," Mrs. Wick said, wrapping an arm around Watson's neck from behind.
Watson protested unhappily, "But he hasn't replied to me for an entire month."
He looked at Kiki and asked the gray owl, "Did you deliver the letter, Kiki?"
Kiki tilted its head, flew over to Watson's breakfast, grabbed a piece of meat, and swallowed it.
(Changing the name to Kiki from Qiqi coz the WN readers said it sounded CN... 〒▽〒)
"I think it understood me. It just doesn't want to pay attention to me," Watson complained immediately to his wife after being ignored.
Mrs. Wick smiled helplessly. "Alright. The holidays are coming soon. John will be back before long."
She kissed Watson on the cheek and comforted him. "Your hotel is about to open, isn't it?"
"July. I'm waiting for my child to come back and witness it with me."
When he mentioned this, the irritation on Watson's face disappeared. He kissed his wife's cheek and said with a smile, "At moments like this, I want the whole family to be there."
Watson was trying hard to become a father his child could be proud of. Even though he usually seemed unreliable, his playfulness toward his family gave him a unique kind of charm.
Mrs. Wick told him to have breakfast, and Watson got up and walked toward the dining table.
"Kiki!" He saw that his breakfast had already been eaten clean by Kiki.
Instead of comforting him, Mrs. Wick teased him. "Pfft~! That's what you get for feeding Kiki your breakfast."
"..."
Watson looked utterly aggrieved. Once, during breakfast, he'd had a sudden whim and shared his food with Kiki.
That single act had opened the door to a whole new world for the owl, which now regularly came over to steal Watson's breakfast.
Fortunately, although Mrs. Wick laughed, she had no intention of letting her husband go to work on an empty stomach.
She made another breakfast, and after Watson finished eating, he headed out.
He went to the garage and glanced across the street.
Someone was standing there, completely still. At first, he didn't pay it any attention.
But when the strange outfit of that person flashed through his mind, he turned back again—only to find that the person had disappeared.
"Am I imagining things?" Watson muttered.
He checked the time. If he didn't hurry, he'd be late.
He got into the car and looked again. There was indeed no one there.
Taking it as nothing more than a trick of the mind, he stepped on the accelerator and drove away from Privet Drive.
Not long after he left, that person appeared again, this time standing on the road leading to the Wick house.
He lifted his foot, about to step onto the lawn—then stopped.
He lowered his foot, plucked a strand of hair from beneath his hood, and blew it forward.
The hair drifted through the air toward the Wick house. Before it could touch anything, a spark flashed—and the strand was instantly vaporized.
Zzzp!
"Protective magic."
The man took one last deep look at the house, then turned and left.
...
Night.
Watson drove home, glancing down at his watch.
"Today was a bit too busy."
As the current ruler of London's underground, Watson had to work hard to bring order to that chaotic world beneath the surface.
The affairs of the big bosses, investors, and the hotel... haah...
The sheer volume and complexity of it all had kept him busy until now.
He stopped by a florist and ordered a bouquet of beautiful roses, placing them in the passenger seat.
Driving into Privet Drive, just as he was about to reach his house, the car suddenly went bang.
"What the!? Did I hit someone?" Watson's heart tightened as he hurriedly got out of the car to check.
A ragged man was lying on the ground, looking as though he'd been struck by the vehicle.
Watson reached out and checked his breathing. Feeling the faint but present breath, he wiped cold sweat from his brow. "I almost thought I'd have to call someone to deal with this."
He quickly helped the man up and asked, "Are you alright, sir?"
The man barely opened one eye and pointed at Watson, unable to speak.
"Don't worry, I'll take you to the hospital," Watson said quickly.
Seeing blood continuously flowing from the man's leg, Watson knew he had to stop the bleeding first.
There were no tools in the car, so he left it there and supported the man toward the front door of his house.
As Watson helped him along, he failed to notice the cunning glint in the man's eyes.
Because the protective magic around the Wick house treated this man as someone invited in by Watson, it did not react.
"Wait here for a moment."
Reaching the door, Watson opened it and hurried inside to look for the first-aid kit.
After Watson left, the man pulled a wand from his pocket.
He straightened up and looked up at the house.
"Second King, will you like the gift I prepared for you?"
A red glow lit up at the tip of his wand.
The next second—BOOM—!
...
The deafening explosion made the Dursley family, who were in the middle of dinner, jump in shock.
Vernon Dursley rushed out, his expression blank as he stared at the house engulfed in flames.
"Oh my God—!" Petunia ran out, screaming. "The Wicks are still inside!"
Vernon snapped out of it and shouted, "Call the police, now!"
Dudley rushed toward the burning house, but Vernon grabbed him tightly.
"Don't go over there, Dudley!"
"No, they're in danger!" Dudley had trained in boxing, but even he couldn't break free from Vernon's bulk right away.
Vernon didn't want his son to take such a risk. The explosion had been so powerful that even the dog statue inside the house had been blasted out.
The Wicks were probably already dead.
Dudley finally managed to break free and rushed toward the sea of flames, only to be forced back by the heat.
Across the street, the man laughed silently.
He ran his tongue over his uneven teeth, savoring the faint pain as he admired his own handiwork.
Dudley noticed him. When he saw the wand in the man's hand, his expression changed.
"It's him—it was him who set the fire!"
Dudley shouted, and the man immediately turned his gaze toward him.
"That thing—those freaks' wands," Vernon said, recognizing it.
Realizing he had been exposed, the man decided to kill everyone.
He had just raised his wand when Vernon hurriedly stepped in front of Petunia, roaring at Dudley, "Dudley, run!"
Dudley's face turned pale. He thought of Harry, then of that encounter with the Dementors.
A chill ran through his limbs, leaving him frozen in place, unable to flee.
The man let out a feral grin and opened his mouth.
"Avada—"
Bang!
"Huh..?" The man looked down. A bloody hole had appeared in his right hand.
Then, in the darkness, a streak of silver flashed.
A red line appeared at his wrist—followed by his entire wrist dropping to the ground.
The cut was so clean it looked as though it had been measured with a ruler.
He turned his head and saw Watson, his clothes scorched and torn, holding a handgun.
In his other hand, he was clutching an amulet.
And the source of the silver flash was a dining knife that had shot down from a tree.
Mrs. Wick was standing above, the knife in her hand gleaming coldly.
The pain finally caught up to him, and the man let out a scream.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Rage burned across Watson's face as he pulled the trigger again. The bullets pierced the man's thigh and arm.
Blood poured from several wounds. Watson stepped up to him, grabbed him by the collar, and demanded furiously, "Who are you?"
Perhaps the pain drove the man insane, because his screams suddenly turned into wild laughter.
"Hahaha! We'll kill everyone connected to the Second King!" the man stared at Watson and sneered. "He didn't come out. He really died!"
"Who is the Second King?" Watson looked completely confused.
The Second King?
He didn't even know who that was.
But the man babbled like a madman, muttering to himself, "Master… he's dead. He's really dead. Even when his parents faced death, he never showed up."
Watson sharply caught the word "parents." A guess formed in his mind, and his expression slowly lost control.
"Tell me who the Second King is!" He grabbed the man by the throat, watching his face gradually turn red, and growled, "And who is your master?"
The suffocating closeness of death made the man's eyes roll back as he struggled to speak. "The Second King… is… John… Wick."
Watson released him, staggering backward.
"That's impossible. Impossible."
He shook his head frantically, refusing to accept it. "My son… it can't be."
"John, John!"
"He can't be dead!" Watson roared, raising his gun and firing at the man again and again.
Click, click…
The bullets ran dry.
And the man was dead.
Watson showed no sign of stopping. He lunged forward and began punching and kicking the man's corpse.
As if trying to escape reality through violence.
The Dursley family, who witnessed everything, stood frozen in shock.
Just moments ago, their friendly neighbor had shot a man dead right in front of them.
Mrs. Wick stepped forward and held her husband tightly, her voice trembling despite her attempt to stay calm. "John will be fine. He must be at school."
"Yes. School."
Hearing those words, Watson finally snapped back to reality.
With shaking hands, he pulled out a mobile phone from his coat pocket and dialed a number.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to regain composure. Looking at the corpse, he said into the phone, "I'd like to order a one-person dinner."
After a while, the fire at the Wick house was extinguished.
The big-headed gray owl flew down and landed beside Watson.
Watson sat at the entrance of his house, his expression dark.
A group of people arrived, wrapped the corpse, and loaded it into a vehicle.
An elderly man walked up to Watson, removed his hat, and said respectfully, "Thank you for your use of our service, Mr. Wick."
Watson lifted his gaze to the old man and said coldly, "How many people do we have?"
The old man smiled. "We've always been waiting for your command."
"Boss."
Inside an aircraft that had taken off from the land of Russia, the entire cabin was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.
Even the captain didn't dare to pour himself a glass of vodka, afraid of provoking those fearsome figures.
~~~
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