Fukujima resort was a nice place.

The atmosphere was pleasant. The sound of waves crashing against hard eroding rocks lulled people into a sense of peacefulness. A cool breeze brushed through Koro's short dyed hair and tickled at his face as he leaned into his deckchair. He breathed in the particular scent of salty water, finding comfort in the peaceful environment.

Honestly, if not for the fact that the drink in his hands was drugged, it would have been perfect.

Casually, the hitman brought the spiked drink closer, his mouth wrapped around the bamboo straw, and he silently sipped on the refreshing beverage. A pair of sunglasses comfortably rested in his hair as his violet eyes overlooked the shore and tourists strolling by.

The cocktail tasted sweet, a bit too sweet, in fact. But the temptation of someone trying to poison Koro blinded him to danger. In his line of work, death often loomed over you, casting its warm and sinister shadow over your silhouette at every corner.

So while Koro knew that he wouldn't die from the cocktail, he couldn't help the adrenaline that coursed through his veins, pumping through his blood at the ridiculous odds of his possible demise.

Not that he wanted to die. Especially not given his current conditions.

Yucca, Varia's Cloud Guardian, Top Executive, Member of the Board of one of the most feared assassination organizations, infamously famous mass murderer— to die on the beach because of a mere poisoning case would be ridiculous.

The thought of his epitaph crowned with the words "Here lies the Plague, feared and revered Cloud. Died from food poisoning" sent shivers of repressed disgust along Koro's spine.

The fake blond was confident that given the Varia's personality and how he'd dodged all of their assassination attempts once when he infiltrated them, they'd write something worse. Yes, definitely some ridiculous assumption about his behavior or skills.

Koro's sipping paused for an instant. He blinked. Once, twice, his violet eyes swept over the scenery as he counted for seconds to pass.

Well, if the drink was deadly, then it was a really slow-acting poison.

After confirming that no, he wouldn't get a vision of his imminent death from drinking the sweet beverage, Koro resumed his sipping. He closed his eyes, hiding his irises from the sun as he pulled the pair of sunglasses nested in his hair to rest on his nose.

Ah~ the weather was lovely!

The sun hung high in the sky, washing the earth in its hot rays and bathing those underneath in its UV. There was no better way to tan than lying on the beach on such a sunny day— not that Koro wished to tan. Sunscreen covered his body, and the slight shade cast by the parasol above him worked in pair with the sun-repelling agent to ensure he would not get sunburns or noticeable tan lines.

"Oh? You seem pretty laidback, considering the students' situation, Yucca."

The fake blond hummed in acknowledgment, his purple eyes cracking open from behind the concealment of his sunglasses to flick and look at the woman. His gaze swiftly grazed her figure, not lasting any longer than it needed to before he closed his eyes again.

Koro felt bile rise from his stomach, a common reaction whenever he'd face any well-endowed woman. With experience, he stopped the vile liquid from even reaching his throat, forcefully pushing it back in the depth of his stomach as he brought his cocktail closer to rinse the phantom taste that lingered behind.

Beside him, Irina made herself comfortable on the nearest deckchair. A white, immaculate one-piece swimsuit perfectly hugged her generous figure. Her front has entirely covered, the white fabric snugly fitting her and going upwards to hug her neck in a chocker-like grip. It was, at first sight, a rather conservative piece. If you did not look at her from behind, that was. A provocative low cut unveiled her delicate back for all to see, the thin fabric merely covering her ass and allowing the slit of it to peek out.

The English teacher placed herself atop the deckchair, fingers expertly going to her pair of expensive Channel sunglasses to readjust them before she laid down, a comfortable moan sounding from her delicate lips as she basked into the sun's blessed warmth.

"You do not seem too concerned either, Irina," the assassin returned as he set his drink on the small table in between their two deckchairs.

Irina barked a laugh, a broad grin covering her taupe-colored lips. "Who'd go hiking when there's a perfect beach right in front of them?" she rhetorically asked, amusement veiling the lazy tone of her voice.

Koro could only hum in agreement.

He also did not think that Irina had brought any clothing fit for anything but sunbathing and honey-trapping missions. But he wouldn't call the Honey-Pot out like that. It would be rude and plain insulting, considering the exigence her tasks instilled in her lifestyle. An assassin's technique dictated their way of life, the requirement seeping into their tastes and habits until the mask of a hitman blended with their human skin to become one indissociable being.

Peaceful silence settled between both teachers, the intermittent sound of tides falling against the sandy shore filling up the space. Both apparent foreigners comfortably basked in the comfort of a not deadly place. And if not for the terrifying body count looming in the obscurity of their shadow, they might have been a regular duo of friends or couple on a vacation.

The two (not) lovers, in the eyes of unsuspecting tourists, spent the remainder of their afternoon in each other's silent company, useless thinking coming and going like waves against the shore. They relaxed into their respective deckchairs, cold drinks in their hands, and no student to look after.

::

So that was what he forgot.

Guilt washed over Koro as he observed his students fall like flies under insect-repellent for the second time. Although his afternoon and early evening by the beach in Irina's company had been enjoyable and a pleasant breath of fresh air away from responsibilities, at some point, the memory of Smog's attempt had slipped out of the Varia Guardian's mind.

oopsie~

Koro's eyes swept his sweaty and burning students, pained groans and constricted exhales slipping past their lips. The sight was alarming, yet Koro did not find it in himself to panic.

Maybe because he already knew that the drug used was nothing lethal— or perhaps because of the Sun pills in his possession? Koro did not stop to ponder that maybe he was just too desensitized to all of this, so used to it that his brain filtered and vomited the information back as something unimportant and not alarming.

Koro licked at his upper lips, gloveless hand carding through his dyed hair before his gaze flickered around to look for his scientific prodigy. Purple eyes zeroed on the panicked Okuda, noting how she flayed around, disoriented as she looked for ways to cool her classmates down.

Amidst the chaos and the faint ringtone on Karasuma's side, the assassin made his way over to the raven-haired girl. He laid a hand on her shoulder, regretting his lack of Rain flame, and exerted a small amount of force on her figure— grounding the poor girl back on the ground and momentarily halting her erratic thoughts.

"Okuda," he called, voice low and akin to a whisper to not startle the girl.

The glasses-wearing girl did not answer. Her purple eyes swam with doubt, and panic, a blend of fear and desperation enveloping her fragile form as she almost teetered, her footing unsteady and legs growing weaker by the seconds. 

Koro frowned. His purple eyes gleamed a scorching amber, violet engulfing his irises in a violent display of charismatic authority.

"Manami," he addressed again. Flames leaked from his hold on the girl, seeping into her system like a stimulant that had her straighten her spine and frantically turn her head to answer the older's call.

Takebayashi, the second scientific student of the class, jerked his head towards his teacher and classmate at the call— the wave of something forcing his attention away from his collapsed classmate.

"Ah-ha— Arden-sensei?"

The name slipped out of Okuda's lips without thinking. That was the first name she ever associated with her history teacher. In moments of panic, her brains took the easiest route, leading to the alias.

Koro hummed, keeping his hand on her shoulder to have Okuda firmly anchored to the ground and reality. He did not correct her.

"Yes," Okuda breathed a relieved sigh at the fake blond's confirmation. "Would you be able to grind the pills now, Okuda?"

The girl blinked, purple eyes blank and hazy as she difficulty processed that would have provoked unbridled joy a mere hour ago.

Her eyes widened as if only realizing what her teacher said. She vehemently shook her head, stutters coming out of her mouth as she tried to find reason in the question.

"I-I— no! I couldn't— I— How? No—,"

"Manami," the call of her first name had Okuda focus again. Koro could feel her tremble under his grip, and while the girl was not his Storm, he could feel the panic seeping out of her and rolling off of her body in frantic waves hurling for help. "You can do it," he asserted.

Okuda felt herself tear up. Not because she felt touched but from the stress of the situation. She weakly shook her head. 'no.'

Koro drew his lips into a comforting smile, his eyes narrowing in a dotting, almost loving way as he gazed into the teen's eyes— freezing her into her motion.

"Okuda," he repeated, making sure that he had the girl's attention on himself. "You can do it. I know you can do it," he told her. Calm purple eyes carefully observed at violet eyes focused on him, the girl's breathing growing steadier. "You will do it, and you will succeed," he reiterated. "I know you will."

Okuda bit at her lower lip, swallowing back her tears.

"Will you do it, Okuda?"

"I—I can't—I—"

"Shh, it's okay," Koro cut, lowering his voice. "You are not alone," he reminded her, his eyes flickering to the attentive yet confused Takebayashi behind Okuda. "You can do it," the same words came out of Koro's mouth like a mantra, hypnotizing the girls in their lulling rhythm until she found herself echoing them each time.

"I can do it!"

Koro grinned, fondness blooming in the depth of his eyes. "Yes, you can do it," he nodded.

"I— I will do it!"

"You will do it," he echoed.

The assassin's eyes stared into the girl's pensive gaze, piercing into her as if to force any ounce of doubt out of her system, leaving only confidence behind.

Koro smiled. He squeezed Okuda's shoulder one last time before letting go and standing back up again. "I trust you," he told her, picking the tablet of low concentration Sun pills that rested in his pocket. Silently, he pulled Okuda's hand, opening it to place the tablet in the palm of her hand before gently closing her fingers over it. "You can do it."

Okuda nodded.

"Yucca," Karasuma's voice pulled Koro's attention back to the offensive team.

.

.

.

Music of the loudest kind echoed within the closed space. The bass, low and steady, boomed in a foreboding way, predicting with ease the doom of the bodies that moved to its beat, swaying and tottering in intoxicated bliss and deceitful happiness.

The furniture vibrated under the depth of the man-made sound, percussions of shattering glass blooming in a shrill eruption that reminded one of the presence around them.

In case it was not clear enough, the place was a club.

—The noisiest and most depraved kind that promised adventures and unforgettable nights to those daring enough to step in its premise. The selective and expensive kind that allowed the most spoiled and naive children on its ground— children with no worldly experiences but the ones granted through tinted glasses by their parents' money and inheritance.

In the darkness of this place, in one of the most recluse corners with the best overview of the dancefloor, bar, and each exits, a group of teenagers of various ages gathered together.

Their words under the unrelenting beat of the music were unintelligible, but from the shape of their lips and curvature of their eyes, it was easy to see how intoxicated they were.

Cards and packs of snacks littered the expensive low table, white powder layering the glass surface like sand. The glasses, tall and elegant champagne flute, stood amongst other residuals. Liquids of varying colors filled the elongated glasses, tiny bubbles pearling through the translucent drinks and rushing to the surface in a heated race.

The group's main attraction did not sit in the middle, preferring the shade of the corner as they allowed their eyes to fly over future corpses lazily.

Their lips drew into a grin, eyes curving to a thrilling degree as the depth of their pupils pooled with an unbridled need to provoke.

They picked their phone and very naturally went to dial a number.