I have arrived, are you ready

Smiling Face stepped out of the shadows, stopped, and looked down at the boy curled into a ball on the floor.

The boy had taken a serious beating, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and one eye swollen shut. He squinted upward with the other one.

Smiling Face crouched down.

His expression hadn't changed: lips curled up, eyebrows curved, looking harmless as can be.

"What exactly did you run into back then?"

His voice was soft, and his tone was gentle, like he was checking up on an injured friend.

The boy shrank back, his lips trembling several times before a sound could squeeze out.

"I felt like I lost all perception. It was Lin Mo, he blocked off all my senses."

"Mm." Smiling Face nodded, not in a rush to speak. He wiped the blood off the boy's face with his thumb, then wiped it clean on the boy's pants.

"And before the match? What did you say to him?"

The boy's face turned pale.

He stammered for a long time, his mouth moving, but no words coming out.

Smiling Face didn't push him. He just watched with that smile, quietly, unhurriedly.

But at some point, that smile on his face changed.

None of his features moved, the corners of his mouth stayed at the exact same angle, yet somehow it made a chill crawl up from the marrow of your bones.

Before the boy even realized it, his mouth was already confessing.

He repeated word for word how he had taunted Lin Mo in Korean before the match.

Only after he finished did he register what he'd just said.

Smiling Face slowly stood up and brushed the dust off the boy's back.

"So, in other words..."

He tilted his head.

"This idiot went out of his way to pick a fight with Lin Mo?"

The laugh was still a laugh, but everyone there could hear it, that wasn't a pleasant laugh.

Han Junhao walked over from behind, hands in his pockets, and gave the boy on the floor a once-over.

"Lin Mo probably doesn't understand Korean, there's nothing in the intel about that."

Smiling Face turned his head toward him: "Brother, you think you need to understand every word someone says to know they're insulting you?"

Han Junhao didn't respond.

"Tone, expression, eyes, that's enough." Smiling Face fiddled with his sleeve cuff. "Ninety percent of human communication isn't verbal, that's basic knowledge."

Han Junhao thought about it and didn't argue.

Fair point.

Smiling Face gave the boy one last look, his smile never fading, but the words that came out were sharper than a blade.

"Alright. You're of no use anymore."

He pulled a folding knife from his pocket, the handle engraved with decorative patterns, looking like a piece of fine craftsmanship.

The knife was tossed carelessly onto the ground, bounced twice on the tile, and landed right by the boy's hand.

Then he glanced at the man in the tie who had done the beating earlier, and walked off.

Han Junhao stared at the knife on the floor for three seconds, then bent down and picked it up.

He turned the knife over in his hand, then looked at the man in the tie standing in the corner.

"Let's go."

"Yes, Mr. Han!"

The man in the tie almost ran to catch up.

Han Junhao knew exactly what Smiling Face meant by dropping that knife.

But he didn't intend to let it happen.

Call it what you want, but that was still a life.

When he walked out of the room, Smiling Face was already leaning against the wall in the corridor waiting.

One glance was all it took for him to spot the knife in Han Junhao's hand.

"Brother never changes." Smiling Face shook his head, and there was a genuine edge of exasperation in his voice. "If I were you, I'd have left the knife with him. Otherwise..."

Thud.

A dull sound came from the room next door.

Han Junhao's footsteps halted.

Thud.

A second one.

Heavier, more muffled than the first.

Han Junhao spun around and shoved the door open, the doorknob smacking against the wall with a bang.

The boy was face-down for no reason other than his forehead making contact with the floor, the front of his skull already caved in, a pool of dark red spreading across the tiles.

Dead.

He'd driven his own head into the ground, killing himself.

His eyes were still open, pupils unfocused, but the emotion left in them was unmistakable. Not fear of death, but of something else that terrified him far more.

Han Junhao slowly turned his head.

Smiling Face leaned against the doorframe, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, his expression exactly the same as five minutes ago.

"A man's gotta pay for what he does while he's alive."

He paused.

"Don't you think so, brother?"

Han Junhao said nothing.

He swung his leg and kicked Smiling Face square in the chest.

The force was considerable, sending Smiling Face flying, back slamming into the opposite wall before he slid down along it.

The man in the tie at the end of the corridor had gone weak in the knees, gripping the wall just to stay upright.

But Smiling Face sat on the floor, patted the dust off his clothes, and raised his head.

Still smiling.

Han Junhao clenched his fist, but in the end, said nothing. He turned and left.

Smiling Face watched his back, licked his lips, and muttered to himself: "Brother's kick is lighter than last time. Or maybe I've just gotten used to it?"

No one answered him.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, Lin Mo had seen all of it with perfect clarity.

He let out a sneer.

In the Yanhuang Awakening, anyone who stabs his own people in the back has his balls burned off after death.

Of course, Smiling Face probably didn't consider these people his own.

Say what you will, they were just consumables, use them up and toss them out.

Then again, Smiling Face himself was one of those consumables.

No wonder the members of the Superpower Youth Corps were used to operating solo.

It wasn't that they didn't want partners, it was that they couldn't trust anyone at their backs.

Who knows if the person standing behind you is a teammate or another knife?

Lin Mo's main body continued to enjoy some fruit at his leisure.

Meanwhile, his clone was already heading for Shim Jae-hyeok's villa.

If it were up to Lin Mo's own style, invisibility, phasing through walls, straight to Shim Jae-hyeok's office, done in thirty seconds.

Efficient, quiet, clean.

But right now, he was wearing Piao Guochang's face.

So, head-on it is!

Shim Jae-hyeok's estate was no small property, three gates front to back, with over twenty guards spread between open posts and hidden ones.

The perimeter wall was rigged with infrared sensors, pressure-sensitive lines were buried under the lawn, and even the sprinkler system in the flowerbeds had been modified to spray tear gas if needed.

Rich folks had different reasons for living in estates, some for security, some for peace and quiet.

Shim Jae-hyeok's reason was control.

The entire estate had one hundred and thirty-seven cameras, covering every corner, including the basement corridors and the roof vents.

His greatest pleasure was sitting in his study before a surveillance wall made of sixteen screens, watching every move everyone made.

He watched how the gardener trimmed the branches, how the kitchen help minced vegetables, whether the guards slacked off during shift changes.

He'd even installed pinhole cameras in storage rooms, corners where the maids and male workers thought no one could see.

Whenever he caught someone sneaking off to a storage room for a secret rendezvous, Shim Jae-hyeok never exposed them on the spot. He'd file it away and then watch them squirm.

That was his pleasure.

Knowing other people's secrets thrilled him more than holding their money.

At this moment, Shim Jae-hyeok was holding a glass of nutrient supplement, watching screen number seven, where a guard was sneaking instant noodles in his booth.

Then screen number one lit up.

The gate camera had caught a figure.

The man didn't dodge the security camera, didn't cover his face, didn't even wear a hat. He just swaggered up to the iron gate, stopped, looked up, and stared straight into the lens.

The teacup in Shim Jae-hyeok's hand paused at his lips.

The voice crackling through the intercom carried a hint of amusement.

"Hey, Shim Jae-hyeok."

The man grinned at the camera.

"I'm here. You ready?"

Shim Jae-hyeok set down the teacup, his eyes fixed on that face on the screen, pupils narrowing slightly.

He pressed the button.

A sound came from the gate.

"Not ready, but come on in."