"May I know which hospital you're in, sir?" I asked.
Silence. Longer than it should've been. Was he hesitating… or drifting off?
"Why?" he answered at last, voice small, sleepy.
"So I can come and… meet you, sir." I glanced at the team for the cue--- they held up wigs and masks like a bad fashion show. Number 45 gave me that resigned look: here we go again.
My mind wandered to the crimson wig and blue lenses. Anime boys with red hair and blue eyes always looked scandalously fabulous. I smirked. Night is for theatrics, right?
"Tonight?" his tone smoothed in a way that made my imagination do unpleasant things. I had to bite a grin.
"Tomorrow, actually, sir," I corrected, pretending the wig wasn't already in my hand.
"I don't want you tomorrow," he said, as if sending me back to factory returns. Final, cold.
"What do you mean?" I blinked. Not that I didn't understand manipulation---just that he had a new twist. My teammates rolled their eyes; they knew the drill.
"You'll come in thirty minutes. Royal Blue Carelines, main branch," he snapped.
The wig dropped. Then, like a reflex, I snatched it back up.
Thirty minutes. From my base? Two hours away if I used public roads. Maybe one hour if I bribed a helicopter. Spider-Man was booked.
"Sir-- my house is---" I started, counting routes in my head.
"Come," he said flatly. "Your data will show when you're in front of me."
He sounded done. That was the worst.
"Sir, it's… impossible in thirty minutes. Cars aren't available at this hour---" I reasoned, as my teammates exchanged sympathetic looks. Basically: Rain is doomed.
"My father chose you to be my bodyguard. This is your first duty. Prioritize me." He growled the last word like a cat who swallowed a mouse.
Tch. I opened my mouth to mock him, then his voice cracked into a shout that felt like a slap through the phone.
"YOUR TIME STARTS NOW!"
The shout cut through my eardrums. The room forgot how to breathe.
Damn it. I wanted one quiet night. One measly, sacred nap. But my life apparently hates the concept of rest. It prefers timing, blood, and running after ghosts like some over-eager tracking dog.
"Coming, sir!" I snapped the call shut and dropped the phone. It hit the floor and bounced like bad luck.
"Guys-- gear me up. Now." My hands flew to my face. I could feel my nerves buzzing, a tiny sleep-wet tear trying to escape. I was tired, yes. But mission comes first. Misery is my cardio.
They mobbed me with outfits, throat mics, AI-voice changers, and lenses. I chose a blue set that made my irises look like iced gun barrels and a crimson wig that sat like a crown of trouble.
"Ten out of ten, Rain!" someone crowed.
"Soakjin is going to be soaked!" another yelled, and the room erupted in nonsense. Gold. Poetry for the desperate.
"Thanks, boys--- my energy level is full," I said, sliding my black glasses down with a cocky half-bow. One leg hooked into the doorway because drama works best with balance.
"Yo yo , Rainism , yeah !" they chanted. "Go make Soakjin regret his decisions!"
I left the base in a suit that could kill a mood and a grin that could start a war.
Chapter 6( spoiler)
His voice broke through my ear like a twig snapping.
"Where are you?!"
"Sir--- what's wrong?" My brain suddenly forgot how to be funny.
"He's--- they'll--- kill---m---!!!" The line cut out mid-scream. The sound that followed was the worst: a loud crack, like someone smashing a phone into a wall.
My world narrowed. The road spinning into my eyes...
I didn't breathe for a second. Then everything clicked: mission mode. No more theatrics. No more sass. This wasn't a robbery or a prank. This was panic.
I realized with a physical jolt: I was supposed to kill this man later--- professional detachment, all that--- but right now, he was my target and my charge at the same time. I'm the one who is supposed to keep him alive.