The deli was like derived straight from the nineteen fifties. The outside appearance was based from modernity, concrete base and glass walls and doors. But the inside appearance was entirely based from the nineteen fifties. There’s a real hearth at the left side of the room to serve as the heater, the tables and chairs are antique, the display cabinets don’t have glass walls to protect the food and the thing they use to cook, which is publicly viewed, is a wood fired oven made from old red bricks.

Sandara lined up to the counter to check out the flavored cream cheese and to order herself some calming and soothing tea. She decided to look around, if ever she knows someone. One of her stepmother’s guards maybe, or a staff.

Sandara’s eyes lit up, and she called him, “Top!”

Top turned around, and his lost eyes turned bewildered. She was here, in all of the places he had searched; she’s here at a deli. Unconsciously, he walked up to her and managed to greet, “Hi.”

Sandara cocked her head to the side, and asked, “What’s with the long face? Can’t find a seat?”

Can’t find and kill you. Top thought, but kept it to himself.

“Do you want me to accompany you?” He asked, offering a bit of kindness. If he were to kill her, he should at least act nice to her in the remaining minutes of her life. Sandara nodded, and answered, “Sure.”

“So,” She starts, now looking back at the counter with Top beside her. “Did my stepmother start a searching team to find me?”

“Yes, she did.” Top answers, honestly. “Three-fourths of her whole security have been ordered to find you all around South Korea.”

“Then why didn’t you handcuffed me and bring me to her?” She asked again, stepping as forward as the line moves.

Top shrugged. “It’s not my job.”

The staff serves very fast, because even before Sandara could process another question inside her brain to ask Top, they were already at the front. The staff smiled at Sandara brightly, so brightly that the latter thought the girl has diamonds for toothpaste.

“What would you like, ma’am?” She asked, her broad smile still etched on her small face.

“Cookies n’ Cream flavored cream cheese and Twining's Earl Grey tea.” Sandara ordered, smiling but not as equal as to the staff and turned to Top. “What would you like?” She asked him.

Top has his thumb hooked in the waistband of his jeans and his index finger twitches lightly, and freely. He’s tensed, his Adam’s apple twitching lightly whenever he swallows or gulps and sweat prickles his forehead.

In a fast move, Top withdrawn something from his waistband and a loud BANG! followed. Sandara shrieked together with the other customers inside the deli, but she doesn’t stoop, or crumple on the floor. She just had her hands on her buzzing ears as she put her frightened gaze at Top, who’s standing so villainy in front of her with his arm tossed in the air, the one holding out the gun.

“What are you d-“

Sandara was cut off with another pull of the trigger, and decided that speaking is hopeless as acting. The staff hastily opened the money drawer, and offered it to Top. “You can take all the money you want, sir.”

“I don’t need the ing money!” Top snapped at the staff, his veins now seen around his neck and arms, popped out and raging. He quickly pointed the gun towards Sandara, directly at her heart and said, “It’s my job to kill you.”

“Why?” Sandara asked, bewildered as horror etches on her face. Top isn’t a bad guy. Why the change of heart? She thought.

“I spent almost my whole life serving your stepmother, and generations of my family had served your father’s family. My father is your father’s loyal butler before they both died in the accident. It’s been our family’s motto to serve loyally to the Parks.” He said, but there was horror in his eyes beneath the cold, chilling voice.

“But am I a Park too?” Sandara whispered, her hands now tangled with each other. She tried to ease out her nervousness, but clearly it wasn’t curable. Anyone would be definitely nervous when a gun is pointed at them.

“I need to do this, Sandara.” He says, closing his eyes and for a moment, he was wistful. “No,” He muttered, shutting his eyes and pressing his lips tighter. “I can’t do this.”

He opened his eyes, his resolve now firm and said, “I’m sorry.”

And he pulled the trigger again.