THE KILLING HOUR

Chapter 9 · A Turtle in a Jar

The Hunter got here that fast?

When they got a good look at the newcomer, they froze. The Hunter was none other than the crooked captain who'd gouged them for 300 rubles.

"Y-you're the captain of this yacht? How—"

ILoveLillian's head was spinning. Only two hours had passed since the Hunters arrived. How had one found them already—and the very captain who'd taken them aboard?

Not one of you wanted to be a Hunter and stand up for justice. You'd rather run wild in the game. Today I'll teach you a small lesson so the thought never crosses your minds again.

Grandpa drew his baton and walked toward them.

With photos of the four Fugitives, he'd pulled the footage, found them—and hadn't moved immediately.

Instead he'd traced their movements to figure out their goal. Clearly they wanted a boat to hide out on.

So Grandpa turned it around. Using his authority, he ordered every mid-sized boat and up to refuse rentals or sales to anyone without ID.

Then he commandeered a mid-sized yacht and waited. Every other boat was off-limits—making his the only one available to rent.

With his marshal's badge, nobody dared defy him. So the four had duly been carried far out from shore.

"You two, hold him off—"

"What the hell, no loyalty at all?"

Cigar had just told the two men to block the Hunter. When he turned to look, they were already bolting for the rear cabin door.

"The back's locked too."

"We're trapped. It's over, all over. I just started playing—do you have to be this cruel?"

ILoveLillian and Singer wailed in despair. There were only two ways out—front door and back. There were windows, but they were so small even tiny Tiger couldn't squeeze through.

The Fugitives were cornered with nowhere to go, as hopeless as mice backed into a corner by a cat.

Without hesitation, Grandpa stepped inside and locked the only exit.

"You have a new message."

His phone buzzed. Grandpa didn't rush to grab them. He casually took out the phone and read.

[We caught a Fugitive. What do we do now?

No word on the classified document:

"One of you has the classified document. Tell me who, and I'll go easy on you—maybe even let you live a few more days."

Grandpa ignored the other four teammates. The only Fugitive still at large had been caught. In his view, these four had no backup and no way out.

So he'd take these four, dig up the document's whereabouts, and be done.

Such a simple beginner mission, five whole days allotted, and they hadn't lasted half a day. Honestly—boring.

"Classified document?"

What classified document?"

Singer stared at the Hunter, baffled. Their mission was just to survive. What document?

"Big brother, I have the document. Let us go this once.

I'll give it to you. If you catch us again after that, we'll accept it."

Tiger pleaded sweetly. She had no idea what the document was, but it was clearly important to the Hunter—so it had to be worth something as a bargaining chip.

Grandpa gave a cold, dismissive laugh.

"Clumsy tactic, stiff face, cheap acting. You don't know what it is. And not just you—your micro-expressions tell me none of the four of you do."

In the real world Grandpa was a Second-Rank Judicator, deeply experienced at interrogation. The girl was clever and caught on fast, but to him she was still green.

"Once I have you, we'll have all the time we need." In his view, these four definitely didn't have the document—and probably didn't even know the item existed.

So either the last Fugitive had it, or—

these people had never figured out their own identities, or even searched.

Whatever the reason, he'd bring them in first. Without news of the document, they had nothing to bargain with.

No more hesitation. Grandpa shot forward like a blade, baton gripped tight.

With his wealth of combat experience

and plus-5 across every stat, he could flatten a few ordinary people with ease.

"Damn you, I'll take you with me!"

Cigar's huge frame was miserable in a cabin where he had to stoop just to stand, but he was furious and didn't care who the man was. It was a game—who's scared of who? Hah.

With a roar, the big man whipped a half-meter blade from behind his back. He'd bought it at the supermarket for exactly this—a last-ditch fight.

"Armed with a deadly weapon—that's an extra charge. I hereby place you under—"

arrest."

Grandpa was in full work mode and had clearly forgotten this was a game. He showed the Fugitive no mercy and used everything he had. Whoo.

A cold flash swept past Grandpa's face, its edge so vicious it seemed made to take a life.

But the Hunter sidestepped it easily, then swung his baton into the big man's left ribs.

Raw force plus momentum—Grandpa's Strength was already at 15, and this blow landed at 200 percent of his normal power. The instant it hit Cigar, there was a crisp crack.