The universe has an impeccable sense of timing, doesn't it? There I was, minding my own business after the chaos at The Silent Fang, walking home like any ordinary person. Except, of course, I'm not ordinary. And fate? She doesn't do breaks.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, the sharp vibration cutting through the stillness of the night. I sighed, fishing it out while silently debating whether to just chuck it into the nearest storm drain. But no, that would be too easy. And honestly, I couldn't afford another one.

"Yeah?" I answered, my voice as flat as the whiskey bottle I'd polished off last week.

"Deku," came the familiar voice on the other end. It was gravelly, like its owner had been chain-smoking since birth. "I got something for you."

Oh, great. Him. Let's call him Shade, because his real name doesn't matter, and his entire personality screams "cryptic middleman who never shuts up."

"Uh-huh," I said, cutting through his dramatics. "Let me guess: someone's dead, someone's about to be dead, or someone needs me to make sure they stay alive long enough to wish they were dead?"

Shade chuckled. "Not this time, kid. It's... different."

Different? That immediately set off alarm bells. Assassins don't do different. We do straightforward, cut-and-dry, black-and-white. You want someone gone? Cool. You want someone protected? Fine. But different? That's where the problems start.

I sighed, already regretting answering the call. "Spit it out, Shade. What's the gig?"

"Someone's asking for you. By name."

Now that wasn't surprising. It wasn't the first time someone wanted Deku specifically. When you're the best—and, let's be honest, I am—it comes with the territory. Still, I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

"Big shocker," I said dryly. "What's the job?"

There was a pause, just long enough to make me suspicious. "It's a retrieval gig."

I stopped walking, staring at the nearest streetlamp like it had personally insulted me. "Retrieval?"

"Yeah. Stealing something. And returning it."

Stealing. And returning. I could feel the vein in my temple throbbing.

"Shade," I said slowly, like I was explaining algebra to a toddler. "I'm an assassin. You know, stabby-stabby, not sneaky-sneaky. If they wanted a thief, they could hire one for half my rate."

"True," Shade admitted, "but they asked for you."

"And I'm supposed to take that as a compliment?"

"You should," he replied, completely serious. "It's high profile. Big money. Enough to keep you swimming in whiskey and sharp objects for months."

Okay, I'll admit it—that got my attention. I may be picky, but I'm not stupid. Big money was big money, and I had a certain fondness for eating and not being homeless.

"Fine," I said grudgingly. "What's the deal? What am I stealing, and who's dumb enough to hire an assassin for it?"

Shade hesitated again, and this time, I could practically hear the gears in his head turning. "Details are light for now. Client's keeping it hush-hush. They'll brief you in person if you take the job."

Oh, fantastic. Because nothing says "totally not a trap" like vague details and a secretive client.

"Uh-huh," I said, skepticism dripping from every syllable. "And why me, exactly? Why not hire some desperate thief who'll do it for half a sandwich and a pat on the back?"

"Beats me," Shade said. "Maybe they like your style. Or maybe they've got enemies that only you can handle. Either way, they're willing to pay through the nose for it."

I rubbed my temples, already feeling a headache coming on. "You know what, fine. Set up the meeting. But if this turns out to be some kind of scam or trap, I'm going to make sure the first person I 'retrieve' is you."

Shade laughed, clearly unfazed. "Noted. I'll send you the time and place."

The line went dead, and I stood there for a moment, contemplating my life choices. A retrieval job. Really? That wasn't my scene. But then again, if the money was as good as Shade claimed, maybe it was worth considering.

Still, something about it didn't sit right. Why me? Why not someone cheaper, less conspicuous, less likely to accidentally murder someone along the way?

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and started walking again, my mind racing with possibilities. Maybe the client knew something about me they weren't letting on. Maybe this wasn't just about stealing something; maybe it was about sending a message.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what it seemed—a high-paying gig with no strings attached.

...Yeah, right. And I'm a bunny rabbit.

One thing was clear: I needed answers. And if the client thought they could pull one over on me, they were in for a rude awakening.

After all, I'm not just any assassin. I'm Deku.