The agency was a graveyard of silence.
The only light came from the low, flickering wash of the TV near the jukebox, painting the room in shifting, muted colors.
Outside, the rain tapped a steady, nervous rhythm against the glass.
Diana sat on the bottom step of the staircase, an untouched glass of beer in her hand.
The ice had long since melted.
She stared at nothing, the question from earlier still echoing in the hollows of her mind.
*”Have you ever been in love?”*
She exhaled, a sharp, ragged sound.
Her eyes drifted to the desk, landing on a small, framed photograph.
She watched it for a long beat, then pushed herself up.
The ice clinked—a lonely, sharp sound in the quiet room—as she walked over and set the glass down among the pizza boxes and paperwork.
She picked up the frame.
“…Love, huh…”
For a second, the image caught the light.
A girl.
Beautiful, with a warm, steady smile that looked like it could hold back the dark.
Diana’s face softened, just for a fraction of a second, before the agency bell rang with a piercing, metallic *DING*.
She slammed the photo face-down on the desk and spun around, her voice a serrated blade.
“Sorry, we’re clo—”
The door swung open, and the air in the room changed.
A man stepped inside.
He was tall, athletic, draped in a white coat over black, topped with a matching white fedora.
His beard was manicured, his eyes hidden behind dark shades despite the hour.
He took in the mess of the office—the weapons, the trash, the decay—and landed on Diana.
“Throwing a tantrum toward your mother, Diana?” A sharp, mocking grin cut through his beard.
“I thought you’d be grown up by now.”
Diana didn’t flinch.
She leaned back against the desk, her expression settling into a cool, dangerous amusement.
“Well, well… It’s Old Man Jun Pyo.” Her lips quirked.
“And I thought you’d be six feet under by now.”
Jun Pyo let out a booming laugh.
“Still rude as ever.”
“And you’re still alive somehow.
Truly inspiring.”
He took off his hat and set it on the counter.
His gaze swept the room, pausing for a fraction of a second on the face-down photograph.
He didn’t say a word, but his eyes tracked back to Diana.
“You look tired.”
“Long week.”
“Demon hunting or bad financial decisions?”
“Yes.”
Jun Pyo chuckled and wandered into the room like he owned the deed.
He reached for the desk, hovering a hand over the turned-over frame before smoothly switching to the wine glass sitting beside it.
He took a sip, his eyebrows arching in genuine appreciation.
“Fine wine.
You still know where to spend your cash.”
“I know my taste,” Diana said, her voice dropping.
She pushed off the desk, her eyes turning sharp.
“But tell me, old man… you didn’t crawl out of the woodwork after three years just to have a drink.”
The playfulness evaporated from his face.
Very well.
I have a job for you.
And a personal favor.”
Diana crossed her legs, her posture shifting into a defensive, grounded stance.
“I don’t like your methods, Jun Pyo.
You know that.
Why come to me?”
“It’s a big job.
We can’t afford a single risk.” He pulled off his sunglasses, his eyes suddenly heavy.
“We need the best.
Which is you.”
Diana rolled her eyes.
“You always get dramatic when you need something.”
“If you accept,” he continued, ignoring her, “I can offer you one million dollars.”
Diana blinked.
She looked genuinely suspicious.
“Looks like your age finally caught up to your brain.”
He pulled a cheque from his coat and dropped it on the desk.
Half payment.
Diana stared at the numbers—very real, very large numbers—and slid it into her coat pocket without a word.
“And the favor?”
Jun Pyo glanced at the door.
“You can come in now.”
The door opened.
A girl stepped in, raincoat dripping.
She was a teenager, thin and shaking, her eyes darting around the room until they locked onto Diana like a trapped animal.
“She is Garin,” Jun Pyo said.
“A trainee huntress.”
Garin gave a terrified, awkward bow.
“H-Hello, Miss Diana…”
Diana looked at the girl, then at Jun Pyo.
Her expression was pure irritation.
“So what’s with the kid?”
“I want you to take her on as your disciple.”
“…Absolutely not.”
“She will learn from you,” Jun Pyo persisted.
“And she will obey you.”
Diana finally looked at Garin properly.
When their eyes met, the girl twitched—a biological, instinctual reaction to a predator.
Diana’s jaw tightened.
She grabbed Jun Pyo by the sleeve and hauled him a few feet away.
“What the hell are you thinking?” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.
“This kid isn’t made for this.
She should be living a normal life.
I’m not taking her.”
Jun Pyo’s smile died.
“I understand.
But if you refuse… she goes back to the refugee camp.”
Diana paused.
“What do you mean?”
“She isn’t from here,” Jun Pyo said, his voice turning cold and heavy. Find the original chapter at g.com.
“Her village was gutted by a demon trio.
She lost both parents.
She’s suffered trauma, depression…”
“Then get her a therapist!
Why drag her into this?”
“Because Garin is not normal, Diana.
She possesses special abilities.”
Diana went still.
“Special powers?
Like what?”
“You’ll find out,” he smiled thinly, “if you take her.”
Diana pulled the cheque from her pocket and slammed it onto the desk.
“I’ll take the mission.
Spend the rest of the money on her education and treatment.
Give her a chance at a real life.
That’s all I can do.”
Jun Pyo didn’t move.
“So you’re not taking her.”
“No.”
“Fine.” He looked at her, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the room.
“Then I suppose she’ll continue suffering alone.
Being treated like a freak.
Being distanced from everyone around her… just like your own childhood.”
The air in the room died.
Jun Pyo’s gaze drifted to the back of the photograph frame on the desk.
“I’m fairly certain,” he murmured, “you never wanted another child to grow up that way.”
Diana didn’t move.
She didn’t breathe.
She just looked like she’d been punched in the gut.
She rubbed her forehead, her hand trembling slightly.
“…Fine.” She pointed a finger at the girl without looking at her.
“Okay, old man.
I’ll take the kid.”
Garin’s face bloomed into a small, fragile spark of hope.
Jun Pyo didn’t gloat; he just grabbed his hat and walked toward the door, his posture relaxing.
“It’s decided.
I’ll send the paperwork.” He stopped by the girl, placing a hand gently on her head.
“You have a new home, Garin.”
“Wait,” Diana called out.
“What about the mission files?”
“She has them,” he said, gesturing to the girl.
“She organized them herself.”
Diana looked at the kid, dumbfounded.
“You gave classified intel to a traumatized teenager?”
“She’s efficient.
Anyway, I have a date.”
“At your age?” Diana looked revolted.
“Especially at my age,” he winked.
He tipped his fedora and vanished into the rain.
The door clicked shut, leaving Diana alone with the terrified kid, a million-dollar cheque, and a past she had spent a lifetime trying to outrun.