With steely determination, Wesley unleashed all his anger. He cursed his female boss without hesitation, each word like a spear striking her pride. Then, in one blow so swift that Wesley's best friend didn't even have time to blink, his teeth fell out, flying with saliva and blood. Wesley resolved to improve himself and inherit everything from his father—including that blood-soaked world.
Wow... Wesley's training process turned out to be nothing like he imagined.
There was shooting practice, but for some reason, Wesley was instead tied to an iron chair and beaten until his head throbbed. Sometimes, he was even hacked with a knife—not to kill, but to test how long he could endure.
In the old textile factory that served as the base, there was a supposedly miraculous chemical solution. Every day, Wesley was forced to soak in it. The liquid was cool and slippery, coating his wounds, restoring his body as if it had never been harmed. But life felt like hell.
Wesley's daily routine was now simple: beaten until he was nearly unconscious, then thrown into a recovery pool like a dead animal. When he awoke from the nightmare, his body still aching, he was forced to drink insane amounts of vodka until his throat burned and his stomach ached. The liquid made Wesley's blood boil, as if his entire body were engulfed in flames. It felt like Wesley wasn't being trained to be an assassin, but a prisoner of war being tortured by the enemy.
Once, half-conscious, Wesley dragged himself out of the recovery pool. Water dripped from Wesley's hair and chin. His eyes were glazed, but his lips moved, grumbling to The Exterminator—the man in charge of running the place. "What did they do to me? Throw me in front of a moving train for no reason? Beat me up? You know this place is dirty! Dirty, right? Dirty!!"
The Exterminator just looked at Wesley strangely, whistled softly, then blinked without saying a word.
Wesley turned, and his gaze froze. Wesley's trainer, Fox—a cool, cool, elegant woman—had just emerged from another recovery pool… naked. Warm steam curled in the air, clinging to her pale, water-slicked skin. In the tense silence, Fox calmly grabbed a towel, wrapped it around herself, and walked out with steady strides, leaving a trail of water on the concrete floor. Fox's voice was flat, almost emotionless, yet full of authority.
"Meet The Repairman in five minutes."
Wesley froze, his eyes instinctively following the sway of those hips. A chill crawled from the nape of his neck down his spine, sending an involuntary shiver across his body. His breath caught, and he shot The Exterminator a weak, weary glance, muttering under his breath, "Couldn't you have warned me beforehand?"
The Exterminator merely shrugged, feigning innocence, his expression bland as if nothing unusual had happened.
Then another voice—slightly teasing, yet unfamiliar—slipped into the air, as though it came from an unseen corner of the room.
"If I warned you, how could I witness such a… surprising scene?"
Wesley narrowed his eyes, scanning for the source of the sound. There were nearly a hundred people working in the textile factory, and Wesley only knew a handful of them. This voice was not one he recognized, and irritation began to creep across his face.
But The Exterminator reacted differently. As someone who concocted potions for assassins, the man knew every member of the brotherhood by voice alone. And this voice… belonged to no one here.
Someone had infiltrated the factory.
"Sir, should we kill them?"
The Exterminator turned his head, stretching his neck slightly as his gaze swept the factory floor, searching for a figure that refused to show itself. But the words that came next from that invisible presence made The Exterminator's skin crawl.
Cross.
Cross had returned.
Suddenly, a figure appeared in the doorway. A rapid burst of gunfire erupted instantly toward the mysterious voice's origin. Wesley's eyes widened—the shooter was Fox.
Her skin still glistened faintly with droplets of water, clean and fresh, wrapped only in a loosely tied towel. Yet her gaze was razor-sharp, cutting through the air like the edge of a blade.
It was obvious now—Sloan, leader of the Fraternity, would never let Wesley wander without a shadow watching over him. Fox was that shadow. She had been near Wesley all along, even if he had never realized it.
So when the unfamiliar voice rang out, Fox recognized it instantly. Cross.
Unlike The Exterminator, who had faltered for a moment, Fox—a seasoned veteran assassin—moved without hesitation. The woman's counterattack was vicious, as though each bullet carried the unspoken message: Any enemy who steps in will never leave alive.
But her bullets tore only through empty air, slicing the silence with their high-pitched whistle before smashing into the far wall. Chips of faded, gray-white paint burst into the air like filthy snowflakes, scattering in the dim factory light. Yet Fox's shots missed their target.
Still gripping her pistol with deadly precision, her finger tense against the trigger, Fox suddenly heard laughter—so close it was as if the speaker's breath brushed against the fine strands of her hair.
"Haha… this woman's got quite the figure—comparable to Mrs. Jane Smith—and her facial features… somewhat similar. Unfortunately, she's clearly not the same person."
A shiver raced down Fox's spine, her entire body going rigid like a taut steel cable. The arm holding her pistol trembled, and instinctively she squeezed the trigger. The bullet ripped through the air at a sharp angle, carving a path toward the voice—but once again, she missed.
This time, however, her eyes caught it.
An Asian young man, his face sharp and brimming with confidence—familiar. Cross. And even more shocking… Mr. X!
"How is that possible?" Fox's eyes shook violently, her pupils dilating.
The Fraternity had never recovered Mr. X's body, but the surveillance footage had captured it in brutal clarity—his head blown apart by a sniper's bullet, bursting like a rotten watermelon under the summer sun.
How could Mr. X still be alive?
Was his death nothing more than an elaborate deception? A trap set by Cross from the very beginning?
------------------------------
[Announcement: A New Novel Has Been Added!
The Puppet Maker in the World of Naruto
A man who is a scientist, researcher, and expert mechanic in robotics dies in a massive explosion that occurs in his laboratory while developing an advanced robot project. However, instead of experiencing death as he thought, the man awakens in another world—a strange place with vast stretches of desert.
There, the man is surrounded by people who can jump high, calling themselves ninjas. The confusion he initially felt grows as he realizes that this world is not unfamiliar to him. This is the world of Naruto! However, there is one thing that surprises him.
"Isn't this Sunagakure? Why am I not in Konoha? This poorest village... Oh my God, this is serious!"
Now, in the midst of a new life filled with danger and uncertainty, the scientist must find a way to survive in Sunagakure, a harsh place full of limitations. With his robotic knowledge, can the man change his fate in this ninja world, or will he fall along with the village?]
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