"This is—"

His honey-brown eyes opened wide in shock. The teen carefully stared at his new discovery. His pupil constricted, his gaze veiled itself with a blend of disbelief and denial.

The sound of Miss Akabane returning brought him out of his stupor. As quickly as he could, he hid his traces, not forgetting to put the keys back in their place. After one last glance, he turned around and scrambled out of the room before carefully exhaling. He plastered a smile on his face, walked down the stairs.

"Ah, Mitsukuni," Miss Akabane greeted when she saw he hadn't gone back. She glanced at the stairs before flicking her mercury eyes back to the teen. "Did you go up to take a nap?"

Mitsukuni beamed, lightly humming.

::

Tense silence settled in the cottage. The smell of sweat mixed with the salty smell of the seaside blended and invaded the students' nose, further plunging them in a dilemma. There was only the light moaning, groaning, and grunting of the practically comatose teens that sometimes broke the silence.

Irina moved, she crouched down to the level of the student closest to her to feel his temperature. Okajima didn't even have the strength to relish in the sensation of her smooth fingertips against his forehead. His dark brown, practically black eyes were misty, his pupils swimming and unfocused as he desperately tried to regulate his breathing and regain his bearing.

Okajima Taiga was a male student, formerly part of the photography club. With short, black hair in a butch cut and thicker brows compared to other students, Okajima's foremost reputation was that of a pervert. His hobbies, apart from photography, were peeping and reading erotic magazines. The boy who would usually jump in joy at the sight of a pair of boobs, now laid motionless against a pillar of the patio.

After feeling his temperature, Irina slid her fingers to the student's neck, gently checking his pulse. She frowned, lightly biting her lower lip as a sense of powerlessness bloomed in her heart. Although she was a professional hitman— hitwoman, Irina specialized in honey-potting. While she sometimes resorted to the use of drugs, she wasn't the one who produced them, and her skills in the art were limited.

For instance, while she knew how to counter the most basic and used poisons and toxins, faced with a poison master like the one who probably targeted them, the chances of creating an antidote were poor. For the first time since joining 3-E, she regretted her past actions.

It wasn't the same as when she tried to whore— because, let's face it, she did try to whore her way into the mission. Although she felt embarrassed and disheartened, it was nothing she hadn't faced before. It wasn't the first time Plan A failed, and she knew it wouldn't be the last time. So long as she could try again, there was no loss, only rewarding experiences.

But now— now she wasn't even at the starting line that the event already happened. Even if she went back in time, she wouldn't be able to stop it. Her skills, her mastery of drugs and medicine were subpar compared to the one who concocted the poison. She took a deep breath, silently exhaled, and abruptly stood up. With large strides, she walked out of the patio and to the sea where she knew no camera would catch her.

Her sudden movements brought the entirety of the conscious people's attention to her. She shrugged them off, reached for her phone, and with ease, pictured that one calling card in her mind. It was a simple card with a varnished black background. No name, only a string of silver numbers adorned the card, with the white shadow of a flying bird— as if a stamp akin to the assassin's seal was branded onto the card.

It took her a second to remember those numbers. Only she knew how many times she stared at them, debating whether to call that person or not before going back on her thoughts and storing the calling card away. "Bitch-sensei?" she ignored the seemingly faraway and inquisitive voice of her student.

Heaving a sigh, she let her fingers fly across her tactical screen. She stared at the number in silence, debating whether to turn back now or not, but glancing at her agonizing students, she steeled her resolve. Her blue eyes glinted with newfound determination. She pressed the call button.

Time seemed to stop in the patio. After Karasuma's unexpected call, and the mysterious perpetrator's warning, everyone was on edge. The fact that Irina dared to go out with her phone despite the warning didn't calm their nerves, truthfully, it put them more on edge. But Karasuma trusted her as a professional, and the students believed in her experience and insight as a hitman.

No-one stopped her.

Irina knew her time was limited. Her phone call couldn't last long, lest they detected it, and her words needed to be concise. Her phone rang, she waited, first ring, hoping they would take the call, second ring, she bit her lower lip, third— the call connected.

A low baritone voice slowly came through the speaker. It undoubtedly was the voice of a man, laid back and unhurried yet there was an undeniable clinical edge to his every word as if even if he didn't look at you he could dissect you alive with only the use of his tongue and the sound of your voice.

"Yes? Do you have an appointment?"

The sentence in perfect German came out of her cellular.

Irina swallowed, gripping her phone tighter before she relaxed her shoulders. The air around her was nothing her students had seen. She oozed professionalism and there was an undeniable feeling of death in her every movement. She was a beautiful butterfly, ready to strike the moment you got duped by her beauty.

::

"Who's ringing?"

The underground surgeon paused at the question. His bored eyes swept the people around him. As if to ask if it was them with his eyes before he sighed. With his wrist, he readjusted the black spectacles that framed his sharp and narrow dirty-blue eyes. His gaze strayed to the chubby male who pointed the ringing out as if to burn him alive before he turned on his heels.

"Apologized, I'll be taking this call," he excused, not waiting for anyone to allow him out as he pulled his flip phone out— his work phone. His varnished black shoes cleanly hit the marble tiling, and without another word, he was out.

The group left behind didn't bother with him, merely going back to their previous talks and entertainment.

Meanwhile, the male made his way further away from the group and to one of the camera's blind spots. He accepted the incoming call, placed the phone between his cheek and shoulder, and nimbly turned the camera next to him off— successfully turning the microphone linked to it off too.

He hadn't bothered to check who called him. The only ones who knew this number were fellow hitmen he gave his calling card to. He took his phone back in his white-gloved hands, letting his usual greetings slip past his lips.

"Yes? Do you have an appointment?"

The corridor was silent, leaving no background noise for his caller to hear. On the other hand, he clearly made out the sound of the sea behind his caller. Were they at the beach? he absentmindedly mused, waiting for the other side to speak up.

It was a feminine and confident voice, a familiar one, and he could sense in her tone lingering anxiety. He raised an eyebrow.

"Oshiro, are you near Okinawa?"

He liked that she didn't beat around the bush and went straight to the point. With some appreciation, he hummed. Calling him by his surname, the call definitely was to request his insight as a hitman. His lips remained a straight line, his poker face never leaving his features as he answered. "What of it?"

"There's an Island Resort, I'll send you the address. I need you to be there ASAP—"

He cut her off, his eyes rolling to the side in mild boredom as he already had a clear idea of what her problem was. "What are the symptoms?"

His interlocutor only paused for a second after his interruption before she regained her bearings. "High fevers, dizziness, blood coughing," she paused. "Supposedly, it stuns cells, after a week it's death."

The man didn't answer immediately. He felt the description was familiar and a light smile painted his thin lips. "Oh?" he vocalized, voice laced with some enthusiasm. "That's funny, I've got a prescription like that," he mused aloud, more in a whisper for him to hear than to inform the woman.

The revelation seemed to relieve the woman. He could feel her voice lighten and turning hopeful. For a moment, he wondered when she learned to let her guard down while negotiating but decided to keep the question for another time.

"And? Do you have an antidote?"

He hummed. "I do. But if it's not mine, I'll probably need to review my dosing," he told her after some minute consideration. "The people from my field of work don't usually share their prescriptions," he reminded her.

"It doesn't matter. Can you make it?"

He could feel from her tone that she would hang up soon, and therefore answered without missing a beat. "I should. Give me two days at most, depending on the position," he agreed.

He received no words of thanks as she hung the phone. Seconds later, a coded address was sent to his cellular. He looked at it, committing it to his mind before stuffing his phone back in his pocket. It wasn't that he was the type to accept requests as they came, only Irina and he went way back.

Both were orphans Lovro picked up for their intellect and prodigious skills. They grew up in similar environments, having one another as pillars for the most part of their childhood until Lovro had them specialized in their respective fields.

Honey trapping for Irina. Her job description entailed information collecting and assassination. She appeared like a dream, a mirage, a beautiful oasis in the desert, before disappearing after tearing you apart and leaving you in the dust with nothing to go on.

He on the other side showed prodigious surgical and anatomical knowledge since young. With Lovro's guidance, he grew up to become one of the most talented and infamous surgeons of the underworld while also focusing on the development of drugs and poisons for assassins to use.

Even if he and Irina didn't see or call each other much, so long as it didn't conflict with his interests, he would help her. There were no losses, and he could always count it as one of the best Honey Traps owing him a favor.

His face morphed back to his usual poker face. He readjusted the hem of his gloves and the cuffs of his dress shirt before he made his way to the camera room. Before moving to Irina's position, he needed to finish his current job. He had a reputation to keep, and money to earn. He couldn't leave his post because his childhood friend— could they even be called so? Because Irina gave him a call.

He had his priorities, and Irina's current situation— as she obviously wasn't the poisoned one, wasn't a priority. Not in his book at least.

"Oh?" he called out as he came closer to the control room. His voice stopped his colleague in his track. He gave the man a once over and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Are you going on a stroll?" he asked, voice low and slow, not betraying an ounce of his feelings.

The man nodded, a defeated smile on his lips. "Yeah, the 'Boss' wants us to go have a look," he answered with a playful eye-roll.

"Is that so," he mused, his sharp eyes carefully narrowing.

The man hummed, casually scratching his cheek before he checked his pockets. "That's right," he confirmed before pausing. "Right, how do I look?"

The raven head narrowed his eyes. He found the question normal and carefully scrutinized the round man. The man wore some brown Bermuda pants and a yellow checkered short-sleeved dress shit. He had a white tee underneath, one with a loose collar that if stretched out could cover the bottom of the face. On his round head, covering his butch cut was a beige hat.

In terms of beauty, he wasn't much. He had thick brown eyebrows, and eyes so narrow you couldn't see their color. His nose was big and flat, and his lips stretched into a large smile. Overall, he was like an old uncle.

"Common."

The man with a round face grinned. "Good, good," he approved with a nod. "Common is the best," he joked before turning back. "Grip and Gastro should be on their way soon too," he added as he began to walk away. "I'll see you later, Shadow."

Shadow merely hummed, narrowing his eyes before entering the surveillance room.

You can go back to the beginning of the chapter to appreciate Mitsukuni's presence as he shouldn't appear for the next few chapters. 👀