Skarlet Bloom (English)

A noisy night at the mafia headquarters—the members were celebrating the latest shipment of weapons they had just launched. The atmosphere was thick with wild gunfire, drug use, and every bad thing imaginable. John was in a nearby room, smoking while reading the details of the deal that had sparked the chaos outside. The documents were scattered across his desk. The room's dim light cast a faint gleam onto his dark black hair, and his eyes appeared deep brown as the light reflected in them. The place smelled of gunpowder, heavily overpowered by the scent of cigarette smoke (nicotine) and explosives, thanks to his obsession with weapons. "How truly strange... Wellford bought all the goods... and paid the full amount..." John is the head of a mafia syndicate named Trover, known in the underworld as "The Underworld Monster." Most of his business is strictly focused on arms trafficking. His face is well-known in the criminal underworld, but for anyone with only superficial knowledge of crime, it is best to stay far away from learning more. He sat at his desk with an untouched cup of coffee nearby, examining several documents under a faint light directed at the files, alongside the sunlight filtering through the indigo curtains. "Your men have already blown through the money, John." Mongie, his right-hand man, sat in another chair, quietly sipping his tea while signing a paper. He took a sip, savoring it, calm as always. "Paying it all at once... he definitely stole it from some politician. Would he really hand it over to us just like that for those weapons? This is suspicious." He took another sip and set the cup on the table. "Is he planning to conquer New York?" He let out a sarcastic laugh. John stared at the documents for a moment, flipped through them again, and stubbed out his cigarette. The smell of cigarettes always clung to his clothes. "Mongie... I think he..." He didn't finish his sentence. Leaning his arm against the desk, he finally set the papers down and said with a cold smile, "Let's see what happens." Leaving the papers behind, he walked out of the room and down the hallway. Suddenly, he caught the scent of sulfur. His body instinctively braced itself—a product of years of experience. A moment later, a loud explosion echoed from the control room. He was startled for a fraction of a second, but he quickly calmed down, pulled his phone from his pocket, and made a call. He had been tracking Wellford from the very beginning of the deal, knowing something was off. No one would pay that entire sum for a quantity of weapons they didn't even need. He called Mongie and said in a deep, commanding voice, "I'm relying on you guys. Don't die while I'm gone." He then left the place on his motorcycle, heading straight toward the building, determined to infiltrate it alone—if only to prove to that bastard Wellford that no one challenges him and lives. An abandoned building... as if that worthless fool thought hiding in a place like this meant no one would find him. Not when a tracking device was attached inside his stomach. He took a long sweep around the building and frowned when not a single bullet came his way, even after roaming for two full minutes. It was definitely a trap, he thought. So he stopped and closed his eyes. At that moment, more than twenty gun barrels aimed directly at his head. Was he supposed to surrender? But he hadn't earned his title for nothing; he had modified his motorcycle in advance. (Even though he would feel bad for it later—despite being the one who did it—it wasn't his only bike.) He raised his hands in surrender, pressed a foot switch on the brake, and smiled at them before quickly leaping away from the motorcycle. One of them shouted at the top of his lungs, "Get away from the bike!!!" It was too late. John had already jumped clear, and before they could turn around, the motorcycle exploded, taking down the men surrounding it before they could retreat. Someone lifted their head, showing signs of life, so John stepped forward and stabbed him with his knife. He wanted no witnesses and no survivors from this s*******r. "You could have chosen a less... dangerous job." He had been struck by a few shrapnel pieces, including a severe injury to his arm from the explosion, which he would treat later. His clothes were stained with blood and reeked of gunpowder from the motorcycle detonation. "Twenty men, and not one realized the bike was rigged to explode... That's what happens when you pay idiots." He glanced down at his injured arm. "Looks like I'll have to fight with one hand after all." He entered the building, killing every soldier in his path without hesitation. All that mattered was ending Wellford once and for all. But when he reached the location, Wellford was already dead. "What...!" Collapsed on the ground, he looked as if he were merely sleeping, but he was completely dead. Beside him stood a woman. His current target had been killed by a strange woman with long chestnut hair and bright green eyes... He would have believed a face like that... "Why the violence, miss? Did he cheat on you or something?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Then he remembered this wasn't the first time he had seen this woman. She was a journalist who had died two days ago... confirming she was one of CR's disguises. CR—his favorite weapon out of his passion for firearms—though she wasn't his. He knew what kind of weapon CR was: a weapon belonging to the Skarlet Bloom, a government-affiliated organization in Vengo City operating within the secret forces. CR was the strongest among the five weapons they had created. No one knew her true appearance, her identity, or whether she was human or a machine. All that was known was that killing was her absolute last resort, and that she eradicated the roots of corruption rather than just corruption itself. John, of course, was disgusted by the very concept of justice. "Interesting. What are you doing here?" he said slowly, a malicious smile spreading across his face. He pulled out his gun and tried to shoot her. Seven shots in a row, yet not a single one hit. She was impossibly fast, intentionally focusing on escaping—perhaps because her mission was complete, or perhaps... because she didn't view him as someone worth fighting. The thought irritated him. She kept trying to escape, as usual, dodging bullets with supernatural speed... "Coward... You only kill criminals. Am I not a criminal too, or do you find me trivial... or perhaps... special?" He aimed at her neck, but hesitated for an unknown reason... for the very first time. Yet he fired a shot, which she dodged effortlessly before taking off. "What a beautiful weapon you are... Trust me, no one deserves you more than I do." He hadn't used his injured arm at all, but his brief hesitation deeply unnerved him. He wondered why—something like this had never happened to him before. He couldn't understand why he had hesitated... He never hesitated. He stared at his hand as it trembled, then clenched it tightly into a fist. This will not happen again. That is my final decision. He raised his weapon once more, focusing strictly on his target. If he couldn't kill her, he would take her. He was a man greedy for weapons. But she didn't seem like someone who would surrender easily, and since Skarlet Bloom created her, her loyalty to them was undoubtedly absolute. He stepped in front of her and aimed his gun directly at her heart. "Avoiding attacking me... It makes me feel like I'm not worthy of your attention." CR tried to pull away, but he fired without hesitation, striking her shoulder. "Consider it a mark." Even so, CR escaped after John let her go. A lethal killer who happened to be the same person who killed Emily... Unconfirmed information, but a rumor that existed nonetheless. Emily was his ex-lover who had tried to kill him five years ago... Useless memories. But CR was intriguing. He wondered about her identity, yet decided it was time to head home. He needed rest, dinner, and perhaps a foot massage. He didn't bother calling his men, knowing they had handled everything on their end. Mongie had sent him a cat sticker two minutes prior—Mongie was precise like that. John smiled and returned home. It was a small yet elegant house, furnished with high-end furniture and appliances, completely devoid of servants or anyone who might invade his privacy or the privacy of his wife. He didn't want her becoming a target, so he always made sure his path was free of surveillance and unwanted eyes. Even Mongie didn't know he was married. The house was clean, organized, and perfectly orderly to a point that was... annoying. His wife was sleeping on the couch, completely indifferent to his presence or absence. That familiar, almost empty existence... No, it was entirely empty. Boring as usual. He called out to her as he took off his coat, "Camelia... wash my clothes... and I'm hungry, prepare anything for me." He unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to her... without knowing that she was the very same woman whose shoulder he had shot just minutes ago...