Chapter 9

The one time Yena was actually early for orchestra practice and the conductor chewed her ear off for not doing the assigned theory homework. He had just finished lecturing her about how the homework was supposed to be consequences for the orchestra not practicing enough and not showing up in time and skipping it had completely ruined all of its purpose (on top of that, she was absolutely terrible at theory, which meant that she needed more practice, and her not doing it, in the conductor’s words, was ‘absolutely unacceptable’). Yena was pretty sure he would’ve gone on if Sehun hadn’t saved her at the last moment.

“Your dad hates me,” she lamented.

“Hey, this is a professional place. He’s the conductor. Not my dad.”

“Professional my ,” Chanyeol added from behind them. “The day it becomes professional is when you get to do the homework he assigns.”

“I’m actually good at what I do,” Sehun shot back. “You can barely hold your piccolo without fumbling.”

“I’m a prodigy, thank you very much.”

The rest of the practice went by smoothly. Kyungsoo insisted on driving her home again, and while she protested, he half-dragged her to the car. Yena made one comment about him being the dangerous one everyone had to watch out for and way more terrifying than a stalker, but he shut the car door before she could finish what she was going to say, and she didn’t complain about him driving her home. Compared to the hour long transit ride—she had to switch two subway lines, then two buses—Kyungsoo driving her was a gift. While she did feel bad, his insistence was basically impossible to say no to.

The drive home was relatively quiet. Kyungsoo was either too tired to say much or he just didn’t want to talk, and Yena was tired enough not to talk. She fell asleep with her head against the window, though it felt like barely a minute had passed before Kyungsoo was shaking her awake again. The apartment was already in sight, and, blearily, Yena thanked him, grabbed her cello from the car, and stumbled up to the apartment.

She was so tired that she nearly crashed with the cello on her back. Half awake, Yena brushed her teeth, set the instrument down haphazardly, and changed into her pajamas, ready to curl up (despite the fact that the conductor had given her even more sheet music to work on, to add to the additional pile of things she’d been too busy to do) under blankets and sleep until eleven. If she got up, washed and ate in a grand total of fifteen minutes and traffic wasn’t too bad, she would be able to get to the cafe just at the nick of time. It wasn’t really possible because she normally needed at least thirty minutes, but Yena was pretty sure she needed the sleep.

Before she could lie down, someone knocked on her door. A moment later, Baekhyun poked his head inside.

His glasses were crooked, sitting on the bridge of his nose. His hair was an absolute mess, and there were imprints on his cheek. He had probably fallen asleep on his homework. Yena would’ve laughed at his appearance if it weren’t for the fact that his appearance meant that he was going to ask her more questions about homework, which also meant that that she wouldn’t be getting any sleep until it was clock.

“Noona,” he started, “uh… are you going to sleep now?”

Yena squinted. She’d already taken her glasses off—their landlady was obviously still gone—and without the glasses, Baekhyun’s face was kind of blurry in her vision. “Yeah,” she said. “Do you need help again?”

He shook his head, wide eyed. “It’s not that. Your cousin came here asking about you this afternoon.”

“Cousin?”

“Second cousin,” Baekhyun corrected himself.

"Jongin? I haven’t seen him in a while. Did he say why?”

Baekhyun shook his head. “He just asked if you were there because he said he had something to say to you. I told him you weren’t so he left again.”

Yena sighed. “I haven’t been able to reach his phone for so long. I don’t know if he changed numbers or anything. I don’t suppose he left any way of me contacting him?”

“Nope.”

“As expected,” she muttered. “That kid is so forgetful. I’ll see if my dad has his new number, then. Thanks, Baekhyun.”

He nodded, then pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “Also, noona,” he started, then hesitated. “I have three questions. Can you help me?”

Yena sighed. She’d figure out a way to contact Jongin later, or figure out his phone number—whichever happened to come first. Reaching for her glasses, she wrapped one of her blankets around herself and followed Baekhyun out of the room.

***

The first visit to Kim Jongin’s last known address was absolutely useless, because he found the inside of the house completely trashed. Jongdae searched the whole thing for clues as to where the man might be, but there was nothing in one piece in all four of the rooms. The kitchen housed a chicken in it, which was nearly completely finished. There was also a cartoon of nearly empty chocolate milk. There was no sign of anything else in the apartment, and after another thorough search, Jongdae gave up and headed out again. Jongdae couldn’t find any signs about it either, that he’d actually been a hitman.

Thinking of it then, Kim Jongin was awfully young, too. Twenty two years old. From what he knew, the Sicari recruited skilled people, and most of them were in their late twenties or early thirties (and then there was him—one hundred and twenty). He wasn’t really sure—Jongdae tried to stay out of their business until it was absolutely necessary—but it wasn’t hard to tell that if he’d been recruited before he even turned twenty two, then he was extremely skilled.

Another five minutes of fruitless searching of the apartment and Jongdae gave up. The place was empty, and it obviously didn’t give him any hint as to where Kim Jongin was. It was recorded as last known address—if the Sicari knew of it, then there wasn’t a reason for Jongin to return because he probably knew the organization would be keeping tabs on the place. There hadn’t been anything else listed for him to go to, and, a bit irritated, Jongdae stopped at the bottom of the apartment as he tried to figure out where to go next. It was a dead end, and he had no other leads.

Maybe it was best to go back. Check with the Sicari again with the hit to confirm a couple of details, get more information on Kim Jongin.

He touched the cool metal barrel of the gun in his pocket. Part of him knew very clearly that that was a terrible idea—he hadn’t come to find Jongin so that he could kill him, after all—at least not immediately. Something was already suspicious about the fact that they had given him a hit on a fellow assassin, and the fact that Jongin had gone missing and somehow fallen out of grace with the Sicari—there was something amiss there, and he was determined to at least try to get to the bottom of it.

Groaning, he turned back towards where he had parked his car. There was no way he was going to get anything out of loitering around Kim Jongin’s old apartment, because there was obviously nothing there, and he wasn’t going to make any progress standing there. The only thing that he could possibly do was try to dig up more information on him, then perhaps find him if he found anything useful. Going back to the Sicari was a definite no—Jongdae wanted as little to do with them as he could for the moment, especially because something wasn’t clicking, but they still did expect him to get the job done, which meant he had to act, and fast.

It wasn’t something he normally did. In fact, Jongdae couldn’t remember the last time he’d disobeyed an order (if he’d even done it before in the first place). Then again, there never seemed anything about the assignments that were this off. If he was dealing with a fellow assassin, the fact that so minimal information had been provided about Kim Jongin—either the Sicari was up to something, or Kim Jongin knew something that he shouldn’t of.

Both were possibilities, and also could’ve been happening at the same time. With Kim Jongin missing and the Sicari an unreliable source to turn to, he really didn’t have many options left.

The car was parked a couple hundred meters away in an underground parking lot. Jongdae turned away from the apartment building, ready to leave, and then nearly crashed into someone else.

The person gave a noise of surprise before he scrambled back from Jongdae. “I’m so, so sorry,” he said, then turned back to the conversation on his phone. “Noona, I told you, I lost the keys. What? No, I didn’t block your number. I lost my charger too and I was too busy to buy a new one. Yes. For two months. I swear! I wouldn’t…”

His voice trailed off as he got further away, and Jongdae stared at his figure in slight amusement, mood lifting slightly for the first time since he’d gotten out from Jongin’s apartment. The man was rapidly disappearing down the street—he had a black cap pulled over his face and was dressed in a grey hoodie that was too big for him. Jongdae watched as he crossed the street, then started to make his way in the opposite direction, still speaking into the phone. Jongdae continued to watch for a couple seconds more until something hit him.

The man’s hair, peeking from the baseball cap, had been dyed a bright silver. Jongdae hadn’t seen his face properly because it had been too shadowed by the baseball cap, and he was pretty sure that the same man had come out from the alley behind Kim Jongin’s apartment.

As if the realization suddenly hit, Jongdae yanked the paper files on Kim Jongin out of his pocket. The picture, though unclear, did have his features defined enough for him to get a basic idea what he had looked like. Jongdae glanced back up at the direction he’d seen the man with the cap go in, but by then, he was barely visible, already disappearing down the street.

It could’ve very much have been the wrong person. In fact, that seemed to be a more likely possibility than anything else—but the apartment itself had been relatively quiet; not exactly abandoned, but still empty nonetheless. Jongdae hadn’t checked around the building, but something about the man coming out from the back didn’t seem right.

He glanced at the traffic lights. They were flickering from red to green, and in the distance, Jongdae could still see the black cap of the man, steadily disappearing from view.

There was absolutely nothing to do in the afternoon anyway. After a moment of hesitation, he slipped on his gloves and started off after the man.

***

There was a good thing and a bad thing. The good thing was that the man with the cap, after a closer glance, indeed looked like Kim Jongin. Jongdae didn’t catch a very good look as he tried to stay his distance, but he didn’t need to look at the file again to know that he pretty much matched the picture and that the fact that he was hanging around where his old apartment was basically confirmed his suspicions.

The bad thing was that he was lost and his phone was still in his car, which meant he couldn’t find his way back via GPS. That was a minor detail, though, Jongdae decided, and the priority was still following Kim Jongin until he was somewhere more secluded and out of the crowd so he could figure out what was going on. And if necessary, kill him.

Jongin didn’t make it easy. He weaved through the crowd, occasionally pulling the hat down even lower, walking at a quick pace. Jongdae hoped he blended into the crowd well enough so that the other wouldn’t have been suspicious—if he was on the Sicari’s radar, he probably knew to be cautious. At least another twenty minutes or so had passed when Jongin made an abrupt turn down a road, then disappeared into a building almost immediately.

It took Jongdae a couple of seconds to realize what it was that Jongin had turned into. The street was a lot more busier there—one of the larger streets, at least—and the entrance of the building was relatively fancy. Library, it read, then with the name of the district that he didn’t bother reading. Slipping a hand into his pocket to keep a grip on the gun, Jongdae slipped inside through the wooden double doors too.

Jongdae liked libraries. They were quiet, there weren’t people everywhere and he didn’t have to worry about accidentally brushing someone, and there was something about the atmosphere and the smell of books (if that was even a thing) that put him at ease. Except this time he was supposed to be killing Kim Jongin.

At least the library was quiet. Jongdae stepped through bookshelves, keeping an eye on Jongin, who was moving through the rows at a quick pace. His cap was pulled so low that most of it had covered his face—what wasn’t covered was concealed by shadows—and there was no doubt who it was. He watched silently—it was obvious that Jongin hadn’t noticed him yet—and then the other stopped, right in front of one of the bookshelves.

He paused, eyes going over the volumes and volumes of books before he finally seemed to decide with one of them. He reached up to the top shelf, pulled an extremely thick book out, and then flipped it open to a page before retrieving something.

Jongdae frowned. He was too far away to see—getting any closer would probably arouse some sort of suspicion, but he watched as Jongin placed the book back, a couple of papers in his left hand. Then he reached for another book, did the same thing, put it back, and went for a third. By the time he had gotten to the eighth book, he was holding a decent amount of paper.

He really didn’t have any more time to wait. Taking a deep breath and keeping a grip on the gun in his pocket, Jongdae stepped out from behind the shelf and headed towards Jongin.

The other looked up immediately, eyes wide, and for the first time, showing his full face. Strands of silver fell from his cap, and then recognition flickered across his face, his whole stance shifting.

He didn’t move from where he was standing. Jongdae wasn’t sure how much Jongin actually knew about him, but he was either too shocked to move or he knew better not too.

It was obviously the latter, because after the moment seem to have passed, Jongin lowered his hands, the papers still clutched. Now that he was relatively close, Jongdae could see—they were files, all wrapped in manila folders. “I’ve been caught,” Jongin said breezily, then sighed. “Should’ve known.”

Jongdae watched him carefully. He was obviously still tense, but he had done a good job concealing it. His cap hid a lot of his face, but he could still tell that his eyes were flickering around, obviously looking for a way out. “Do you know who I am?” he finally asked.

Please Subscribe to read the full chapter