The city outside his window had fully transitioned into the deep, neon-lit hours of the night. It was long past the time when normal people went to sleep, but Max was wide awake. The brief, peaceful morning he had enjoyed after meeting Bell was a distant memory, entirely replaced by the cold, calculated focus of a man hunting for a ghost.
The only light in his small apartment came from the harsh, bluish glow of his computer monitors. He sat hunched over his desk, his amber eyes rapidly scanning lines of text, police reports, and encrypted data streams.
He was entirely focused on finding the whereabouts of the serial killer who had murdered the woman on the morning news. He needed information, and he needed it now. A deep, unsettling feeling sat heavy in his gut—an instinct honed by decades of being an assassin and millions of lifetimes as a Dark Lord. This string of recent "accidents" wasn't a coincidence. He could feel it in his bones that this elusive killer was directly connected to his own destined death, the very murder that was supposed to happen exactly one year from now.
Max's fingers flew across the mechanical keyboard, the rapid clacking sound echoing in the quiet room. He skimmed through deep-web forums, underground news pages, and encrypted message boards. When the surface-level underworld yielded nothing, he dug deeper. He routed his connection through dozens of proxy servers and opened the highly restricted, hidden website he used to access for his contracts when he was an active assassin.
He spent an hour cross-referencing names, digging into the encrypted files of the dead woman, and searching for any digital footprint left by her killer.
Nothing.
There was nothing but dead ends, corrupted files, and rumors.
After an hour of intense, fruitless searching, the frustration finally boiled over.
—SLAM!
Max brought his heavy fist down hard on the wooden desk. The monitors shook violently.
"Goddamnit! ARGGHHH!!!" he roared into the empty room, his voice thick with anger and exhaustion.
—SLAM!
He slammed his fist down again, his control slipping. He reached out blindly, his hand grabbing the half-empty glass of cold beer sitting near his keyboard. With a sudden, violent jerk of his arm, he threw it across the room.
—CRASH!
The glass shattered against the cheap wallpaper, sending amber liquid and sharp shards raining down onto the carpet.
He stood up, his chest heaving as he stared at the broken glass. He was already mentally exhausted. He had just returned to his original world, hoping for a sliver of peace, and yet there was already a massive problem waiting for him in the shadows.
What made it much worse was his sheer helplessness in this moment. He could not find anything. Even the darkest corners of the web—the very website he had always used to gather intel and track the people his wealthy clients wanted dead—was coming up completely empty. Whoever was doing this was leaving zero digital traces behind.
Max let out a ragged breath. He slowly raised his hands and touched his temples, massaging the throbbing headache building behind his eyes. He then pinched the bridge of his nose in deep annoyance and lingering anger.
"Haaahh…."
He slumped back down into his computer chair, the leather creaking under his weight.
"….This is really bad news. If even the Information Maester doesn't have any intel about it posted on the public boards, then this killer is a serious threat."
The Information Maester was a legend in the underworld. He was an anonymous broker who knew everything about everyone. If a mouse squeaked in the criminal underworld, the Maester knew its name and who paid it to squeak.
Max clicked away from the dead-end forums and opened a heavily encrypted, peer-to-peer chat terminal. He typed in a complex sequence of passwords he hadn't used in seven years.
The screen flickered, turning completely black before a simple green text box appeared. He began to read the live chat as he initiated contact with the Information Maester on the Dark Web.
M: Hey Information Maester.
The cursor blinked for a long, agonizing minute. Then, the green text began to appear as the person on the other side recognized the unique encryption key of the sender.
Information Maester: What is it, Sir M? And wow, also, it's been a long time! What has it been, like 7 years ago when you last chatted me? Back when you said you wanted to leave this violent lifestyle and live a loner life, huh?
Max sighed at the screen. The old man hadn't changed a bit. Always overly chatty for an information broker.
M: Yeah, it's been like 7 years. Though that's not what I am here for today. I'm not here for remembering my past life as an assassin. I'm rather chatting you here because I want to ask you something important. Don't worry about the price. I'll pay however much you want. I still have over 250 million USD in my offshore bank account.
Information Maester: Nahh, don't worry about the money right now. It's on me for an old friend. So….
Information Maester: What exactly are you searching for? Are you looking for another job for a former assassin like yourself? Or do you want information on the people you want to kill?
Max leaned closer to the monitor, his amber eyes narrowing.
M: The latter. But I rather only want the information right now. Just exclude the kill contract. I just need a profile.
Information Maester: I see, I see….
Information Maester: So, who are you searching for, huh? Who is this person that the former Top 10 Assassin of the Underworld is desperately searching for, huh?
Max sighed out loud as he read the Maester's questions.
"He really doesn't change, huh? He is always curious like a goddamn cat," Max muttered to himself, shaking his head.
M: You know as they say, Maester, "Curiosity Kills The Cat". So stop asking me questions and just give me the information.
There was a brief pause on the other end.
Information Maester: Fine, fine. You are really always so stiff and serious. This is exactly why you don't have a girlfriend and you are still a goddamn virgin.
Max stared at the green text. He simply ignored the Maester's response.
If he were still the old Max—the socially anxious, isolated assassin from seven years ago—he would have literally gotten stiff and angered by this insult. Being ridiculed as a "single, aging virgin" used to hit a deep nerve. He used to rant at the Maester for an hour straight to defend his pride.
But he was not the same man anymore. The insult held zero weight, because it wasn't true. He wasn't a virgin anymore, not after meeting her.
He leaned back in his chair, taking his hands off the keyboard. He looked up at the cheap, water-stained ceiling of his apartment. His amber eyes softened as a deep, bittersweet memory surfaced from the depths of his fractured mind.
He remembered the woman who had changed him. The woman who was the very reason why he had kept regressing, pushing through the pain, trying desperately to save the villainess from her doomed fate in that fantasy world.
"Seriously…." Max whispered to the empty room, a fond smile gracing his lips.
The woman Max remembered was not human. She was a beautiful, dark blue-haired elf with piercing ruby red eyes. She was fierce, stubborn, and carried a deeply broken past, much like his own.
He remembered a specific night in a dimly lit tavern room, far away from the front lines of the war. They had been tangled in the sheets, exhausted and covered in sweat.
She had looked up at him, her ruby red eyes glaring playfully as she traced a finger down his scarred chest. She had spoken to him with that sharp, defensive tone she always used when she felt vulnerable.
"….If you fuck me hard like this, I would not literally let you come inside of me again!" his lover had said, her face flushed red, trying to act tough while tightly hugging his neck.
"Really, old hag? I thought old hags like you were not virgins! Hahahahah!" Sylan had laughed loudly at what she said, teasing her mercilessly about her long elven lifespan.
—BAM!
"OUCH! What's that for?!" Sylan had asked, rubbing the top of his head where she had just struck him.
"That's for calling me an old hag! Hmph!" she had said, crossing her arms over the sheets, clearly annoyed by his teasing.
Sylan had just smiled, his heart feeling lighter than it had in centuries. He had wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close against his chest.
"I'm sorry, alright. I'm sorry, darling~" Sylan had whispered, kissing her forehead as he continued teasing her.
She had given him another quick knuckle sandwich right on his shoulder.
"OUCH! HAHAHAHAHAHA!" Sylan had laughed freely at her classic tsundere personality, holding her tighter as the night went on.
Max closed his eyes, the memory fading into the cold reality of his apartment. The smile slowly vanished from his face.
After she died in that timeline, brutally killed by the Empire where Sylan was born, something inside him had shattered permanently. He had used every ounce of his dark magic to turn back time. He tried to save her. He tried again, and again, and again. She became his sole goal from his 250 millionth regression all the way up to his 300 millionth regression, which had been his final round.
But he had failed. The world's script was too cruel.
Max opened his eyes, staring at the green text on the monitor. He let out a dry laugh, pushing the heavy grief down into the vault of his mind. He placed his hands back on the keyboard and replied to the broker.
M: Whatever. Though, the one who I am searching for is the serial killer who killed a woman recently. You saw the news this morning, didn't you? The "car crash".
Information Maester: Hmm….
Information Maester: I can provide some information regarding about it, but-
M: But what? I thought you had eyes everywhere in the city.
The screen showed the prompt: Information Maester is typing... Max waited, his fingers drumming impatiently on the edge of the desk. The typing indicator flashed for a long time before the message finally came through.
Information Maester: Sigh….
Information Maester: I know I've said that in the past, but that doesn't mean I am literally omniscient. Also, this newly emerged serial killer is goddamn elusive. That bastard doesn't even leave a single trace behind, just like you used to do. But at least I knew the way you killed your targets. You had a signature.
Information Maester: But this bastard? This motherfucker is like a goddamn ghost. No, that bastard is like he or she doesn't even exist in the physical world. Worse, we can't even determine its gender. There is no DNA, no camera footage, no digital footprint.
'Yeah, I already know about that,' Max said inwardly, frowning at the screen. If the Maester was hitting dead ends, the situation was severe.
Information Maester: And the only concrete info we actually have from a few surviving witnesses in the deep underground is that the motherfucker's eyes were vibrant green. That's all! It's like that bastard is a ghost or a demon, I swear. Though, the real question that has the underworld spooked is, why is that serial killer specifically targeting girls? Worse, they are targeting former, retired female members of the Underworld.
Max nodded as he read the chat. He was also deeply curious about why the serial killer was mostly targeting women who had ties to the criminal underworld.
'Yeah, since I already checked their background files earlier, those victims were definitely from the Underworld. They were former mercenaries, cleaners, and hitmen trying to live normal lives,' Max thought, piecing the puzzle together.
M: I have a bad feeling about this, Maester…
Information Maester: Feeling what? That the motherfucker set its sights on you next?
The typing indicator flashed rapidly.
Information Maester: Don't fucking tell me-!
Max took a deep breath.
M: Yeah. It seems I'm that bastard's next target. One of my neighbors just told me she saw a suspicious black van parked outside my building yesterday night. And it seems the driver's eye description was the exact same as what you just said to me. Vibrant green.
There was a frantic pause on the other side.
Information Maester: Shit! Fuck, I'll send my best men there right now. Don't worry, M. Lock your doors.
Max shook his head, typing his response quickly to stop the old man from doing something foolish.
M: Don't. You already said to me this bastard is like a ghost, or like that bastard doesn't even exist. Your men will just be walking into a slaughterhouse, or they won't find anything at all. I handle my own messes.
M: So stay there, keep your head down, and also I've already wired 20k USD to your offshore account for the time.
Information Maester: Hey! I already told you it's on me! Sigh. You really don't change, do you? Always paying your debts.
M: Yeah. Goodbye, old man. Stay safe.
Information Maester: Yeah, goodbye, you stubborn 32-year-old virgin. Don't die before you get laid.
Max gave a small, genuine smirk at the final message. He quickly closed the secure website tab. He didn't just exit the browser; he initiated a hard reset on his web browser, clearing the cache, scrambling the IP logs, and deleting the temporary encryption keys. He didn't want to get spied on or leave a back door open, since he was already highly used to doing this as a professional.
He leaned back in his chair, the glow of the monitors fading to a dull screensaver. The silence of the apartment rushed back in.
Max sighed heavily, rubbing his tired eyes.
"Goddamnit…."
He turned his chair to look out the window at the dark city.
"…I was right. I am that bastard's next target. But the real question is…"
He stood up and began to pace the length of his small living room, his mind working in overdrive.
"Why does it set its sights on targeting me? It's not like those female victims have any connections to me. I don't even know their real names. Since when I was still an active assassin, I was a goddamn introvert at that time. I never worked with partners. I never joined a guild. So what is the link?"
He stopped pacing and looked at his own reflection in the dark window glass. A male, former top-tier assassin. Female, lower-tier mercenaries. The only link was the underworld itself, and perhaps, the vibrant green eyes of the stalker.
Max sighed again. He really didn't fully understand the logic behind the killer's motives yet, but he was deeply determined to find out.
His eyes hardened, the amber color seeming to glow faintly in the dark room. He was determined to uncover whoever the fuck was driving that black van. And if he discovered who it was, and confirmed they were the one destined to shoot him in the alley a year from now...
He would show them no mercy. He was going to shoot them in the head, just like what that bastard did to him in his original timeline, which had been the root cause of his miserable transmigration and his agonizing, endless loop of regressions.
Max turned away from the window and looked at the digital clock on his microwave. The glowing red numbers read 1:15 AM.
"Sigh… let's just go to sleep," Max muttered, feeling the mental exhaustion finally catching up to his physical body. "I can't hunt a ghost when my brain is half dead."
He walked over to the wall switch, flicked off the main lights, and went to his bedroom, plunging the apartment into darkness.
Meanwhile, far below Max's floor, outside on the quiet street bordering the apartment complex, a large, heavy black van had silently rolled to a stop. Its headlights were completely turned off. The engine hummed with a low, barely audible vibration.
Inside the dark cabin, a figure sat behind the steering wheel, completely shrouded in shadows. The person wore a thick, dark hoodie pulled up over their head, and a black face mask obscured the lower half of their face.
The only visible feature was a pair of glowing, vibrant green eyes.
Those green eyes were staring intently upward, locked directly onto the dark window of the room on the fifth floor—the exact room where Max was staying.
The figure watched as the lights in the apartment flicked off, signaling that the target had gone to sleep.
The vibrant green-eyed person suddenly gripped the leather steering wheel. They squeezed it so hard the material groaned under the pressure. The person clenched their hands, their knuckles turning pure white. They were vibrating with an intense mixture of anticipation, obsession, and deep annoyance.
The annoyance stemmed from the fact that they had been nearly found out earlier by none other than a random, sweaty neighbor going for a midnight run.
"Tch! My brilliant plans nearly got foiled because of that stupid blonde bitch!" the vibrant green-eyed person hissed inside the silent van, their voice distorted by the thick fabric of the mask, yet clearly laced with intense anger.
They took a deep, shaky breath, calming their racing heart. They stared up at the dark window, their green eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
"Though, next time… I will not be so careless. I will find a way…"
The figure leaned forward, pressing their forehead against the cold steering wheel, a dark, twisted chuckle escaping their lips.
"…A way to kill you properly. Did you really hope you could escape from me by hiding in this pathetic, mundane world?" the vibrant green-eyed person whispered to the empty air, their tone shifting from anger to a chilling, obsessive reverence.
Then, a single word slipped from their covered mouth. A word that did not belong in this modern city. A word that carried the weight of millions of lifetimes.
"Sylan…"
The sound of that name hanging in the air felt like a curse. The stalker knew who he really was.
Suddenly, the person looked up at the side mirror attached to the van door. The reflection showed the distant corner of the street. Under the flickering light of a yellow streetlamp, they saw the exact same blonde woman in the gray jogging suit from earlier. She was jogging back toward the apartment building, holding a plastic bag full of strange glass supplies.
The green-eyed figure cursed under their breath. They slammed their foot on the gas pedal and rapidly threw the gear shift into drive. The engine roared to life, breaking the silence of the night, and the black van hurried forward, driving away incredibly fast down the dark road.
Down the street, Bellatrix had just rounded the corner. She was panting softly, carrying a small bag of chemical supplies she had bought from a 24-hour hobby supply store.
She looked up at the sound of the roaring engine. Her gray eyes widened as she saw the familiar shape of the black van speeding away from the curb.
"Hey!" Bellatrix shouted, dropping her bag on the sidewalk and taking a few aggressive steps forward. "Come back here, you fucking stalker! Or whoever you are!!!"
She watched the red taillights of the van disappear around the far corner of the block. She placed her hands on her hips, her chest heaving as she caught her breath.
"Tch! Great," Bellatrix muttered to herself, kicking a small pebble on the sidewalk. "Why is that creepy person always looking directly up at Max's room?"
Her mind raced back to the conversation she had with Max earlier in the morning. He had asked her specific questions about a black van passing by here, and she had given him the details about the masked driver and the green eyes.
After Max had left her room, her natural curiosity as a scientist had gotten the better of her. She had marched downstairs and casually asked her auntie, Irmela, who lived in Room 53.
When her auntie told her that Room 53 was Max's room, her eyes had widened in sheer shock. She had realized instantly that the bastard in the van might be a dangerous stalker, and they were specifically targeting the nice, somewhat awkward guy who had just given her a Toblerone bar.
Standing on the dark street now, seeing the van flee a second time, a wave of protective anger washed over her.
"Tch! I swear I am gonna catch you whoever you are later on," Bellatrix declared to the empty street, her German accent thickening with her irritation. She was not going to let some creep terrorize her neighbor.
She let out a long sigh, the adrenaline fading from her system.
"Whatever. Let's just go back inside. It's already 1 in the morning, and I am already dead tired from gathering materials for my next chemical experiment anyway," she grumbled, walking over to pick up her plastic bag.
She dusted the bag off and looked up at the fifth floor of the building.
"Also, I definitely need to tell him about this first thing tomorrow. He needs to know that creep came back."
She pulled her wireless earpods out of her pocket, placed them securely into her ears, and tapped play on her phone. With loud rock music blasting in her head to keep her awake, she jogged the rest of the way toward the safety of the apartment complex, entirely unaware of the deep, ancient danger that had just been parked outside her door.