BOOM!
An explosion ripped through the abandoned warehouse nestled deep within the hidden mountains. Flames roared, debris rained from above, and smoke painted the sky black.
At the center of the wreckage sat a lone woman, calm amid the chaos. Dust clung to her burned combat suit, blood trickled from a cut on her cheek—but her smile… that smile was terrifying.
Weapons clicked around her as shadows closed in. Dozens of armed assassins encircled her, led by the infamous operative known as Ghost.
"Viper," Ghost called out coldly, "stop resisting. You're dead today, no matter what."
Viper looked at him, her smile softening into something deceptively gentle.
"Huhuhu~ Do you really think you can kill me?" she cooed. "Ghost, darling… hiiii~"
Ghost stiffened. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck.
"B-Be careful!" he shouted to the others. "She always attacks from behind—watch your backs!"
Then—his eyes widened.
A sharp pain bloomed in his gut. He looked down slowly… blood was seeping from a fresh, clean wound in his stomach.
Viper stood just inches away, her blade already slick with crimson.
"Hehe… do you really think I always attack from behind?" she whispered, voice dripping with mockery.
Ghost staggered, lifting a trembling hand to point at her. "Y-You… y-you a-aaghhh—"
He crumpled to the ground, eyes wide, blood bubbling at his lips.
Viper stepped back, wiping her blade casually on his coat.
"I told the organization, didn't I? I don't kill innocents—especially children. But they just never listen," she muttered, voice low. "One down. Next… the whole damn organization."
The other assassins hesitated. Their leader was dead. The demon stood alone before them, smiling.
And then they charged.
Cautious, coordinated, desperate.
But it didn't matter.
They fell one by one—some disarmed, others gutted in midair, their attacks countered with inhuman speed.
In less than a minute… silence reigned.
Viper stood alone again, surrounded by corpses. Not a scratch added to her body.
She sighed, looking up at the night sky through the smoke.
"What a waste of time…"
And then—
A second explosion engulfed the warehouse completely.
Beneath the second explosion, the world was fire and ruin.
Viper lay sprawled across the broken floor of what used to be a warehouse, her body a mess of burns, gashes, and shattered bones. Blood pooled beneath her, soaking into the cracked concrete. One eye was swollen shut. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps.
But her expression?
Calm. Almost amused.
As flames danced overhead, she stared up at the darkening sky and let out a breathy, bitter chuckle.
"Ugh… when did those bastards plant a bomb?" she muttered, wincing as the pain surged through her ribs. "Hah… I guess… this is really the end, huh…"
She lifted a trembling hand to her head, brushing the blood from her temple.
Her mind buzzed. Her vision blurred.
And yet—her will burned bright.
Her thoughts twisted with fury.
But I still want to kill them... Those bastards who think they can do whatever they want. Who use people like tools and throw them away.
I didn't even get to burn down the main branch yet...
The fire crackled closer. Her body wouldn't move anymore.
Still, a faint, stubborn smile tugged at her lips.
"Hehe… if there's a next life... I'm gonna flip their world upside down..."
And then—
Everything went black.
Inside a high school classroom in A City, the atmosphere was dull and quiet, the only sound being pens scratching against paper and the teacher's monotonous voice echoing off the white walls.
Students were bent over their desks, copying notes from the board with glazed expressions, lost in the routine of ordinary life.
At the very back row, by the window, a girl sat still—far too still.
She wasn't writing.
She wasn't even looking at the board.
Her wide, star-like eyes were staring down at her hands. Pale. Thin. Shaky. Her body looked malnourished—fragile, as if a strong gust of wind could knock her over. Her long black hair framed her face like ink on snow, tangled and lifeless.
She blinked slowly, confusion flickering in her gaze.
"This…?"
She touched her arms, then her face, then her uniform.
Too small. Too soft. Too weak.
The girl's eyes narrowed as memories came flooding back—blood, betrayal, fire... and death.
"I died," she whispered to herself.
But now—
She was alive.
In a classroom.
In a body that felt painfully familiar.
She slowly turned her head toward the window and caught a glimpse of the cityscape beyond the school gates. Her heart skipped a beat.
"…A City? My hometown?"
She looked down again at her skinny arms and muttered under her breath, her voice hoarse and tinged with disbelief.
"I'm… back. I'm eighteen again."
The realization hit her like a punch to the chest.
The body she had discarded years ago—before the guns, the missions, the betrayals—was now hers again.
The old her.
The weak her.
She clenched her fists slowly, feeling the bones press against her skin.
But this time… she wasn't weak.
She suddenly stood up, the chair screeching loudly against the floor.
The teacher paused mid-sentence, startled.
"Teacher," the girl said clearly, her voice calm but firm. "Can I go to the washroom?"
Every student turned to look, surprised. The girl who had barely spoken a word all semester—the quiet, almost invisible girl who always kept her head down—was now standing tall with a strange, steady gaze.
The teacher blinked, a little caught off guard.
"Ah… go ahead."
As the girl turned and walked out of the classroom, the teacher watched her retreating back thoughtfully.
Strange…
This introverted girl finally spoke up. And today… her back—it didn't look timid at all. It looked… confident. Like she had changed overnight.
The teacher gave a small nod and smiled faintly to herself.
"Well, if she's finally coming out of her shell… that's a good thing."
She turned back to the board and continued her lecture, unaware that the girl who left wasn't just coming out of her shell—
She had returned from death… and the entire world was about to feel it.
Inside the quiet school restroom, the flickering fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection in silence.
The face staring back was delicate, pale, and unfamiliar in its softness. Her eyes, though beautiful like starry skies, looked hollow—weak. Her uniform hung loosely on her undernourished frame. She raised her hand and touched her cheek, then ran her fingers through her messy black hair.
"This body…" she murmured.
Her brows furrowed.
"Was I really this weak back then?"
She stared at herself for a long moment. It was like looking at a ghost—one she had long buried.
Her fingers slowly curled into a fist.
"I'll have to train again from scratch," she muttered, clenching her jaw.
But even as she looked at the fragile frame in the mirror… her eyes glowed with something far from weak.
Resolve.
Rage.
A storm buried behind a calm expression.
Her fist trembled slightly as she slammed it against the sink.
"This time… they won't escape," she whispered.
Her voice was quiet, but it dripped with venom.
"I'll show them what it means to play with people's lives. One by one… I'll make them pay."
She smirked, her reflection now looking back at her with a glint of terrifying determination.
The Reaper had returned.