"So, exactly who are you here as?" Renjun hadn't said a word for twenty minutes, so it took Jisung a few seconds to reply.
"Han Yoonso," replied Jisung. "Is Huang Renjun your real name?"
"As far as you're concerned, yes." Renjun turned right at a traffic light and suddenly took another turn inwards again as a police car whizzed by. He kept an eye on the road behind them, then started driving again. "And I didn't ask for a name, Jisung. Who did I kill?"
"You killed Han a month ago at the same airport that I landed at, yes? He was an eighteen-year-old teenage boy who was on his way to Zhong Tech for an internship. He'd graduated high school as the class valedictorian and had been granted scholarships in various different schools. He'd have been directly under Zhong Chenle's and his secretary's supervision, along with —"
"His secretary is me, and I've made sure to have my plate full for the upcoming months," interrupted Renjun, pulling into the car park of what seemed to be a complex of high rise work buildings. They glinted silver and gold in the sunrise, but not in a beautiful way. It was cold hard calculation, harsh lines of light, paradox with reality.
"Don't interrupt me," grumbled Jisung. "And he had blonde hair."
"That last part wasn't all that important."
"It was, because that's the reason I don't have blue hair anymore."
"You don't have blue hair anymore because it's unfitting to be heading off to an internship looking like a half-finished waft of cotton candy."
Jisung narrowed his eyes, then sat back calmly. "Let's keep it formal, Huang. I'm exactly who they make me out to be, and I don't know who you are, so even a little respect would be appreciated."
"Your Chinese is still a little shaky," replied Renjun, taking off the sunglasses and flashing the boy a pair of grey lenses. "I hope you'll work on it a bit more."
"I said that completely correctly," bit back Jisung, leaning back and waiting for the response.
"Yes, but your accent is choppy as hell," replied Renjun. Jisung frowned when he realised Renjun had spoken in Korean.
"Oh, but Han Yoonso's Korean." Jisung swallowed the insult he was definitely about to spit and placed his hand on the door handle, fully ready to pull at it. "I'm getting out. Please just type up the info I need and send it to me in an email or in a ciphered handwritten message. This place opens in an hour and I need to find the apartment and a nearby café."
"They're both in the —" Renjun started cockily, but had Jisung shut the door and was strolling away from the car in a undetectably forced manner.
He'd find them himself if it was the last thing he did. Good God, that Huang hadn't even shown Jisung how useful he could be (or couldn't be) and Jisung had subconsciously made a point to ignore him. Apparently, he would come in quite handy, but Jisung recognised a fellow conman when he saw one, and he was sure that he himself was crafty enough on his own.
Jisung took no time to breathe in the soot and take in the sights of the new city. He'd never been in China and he never wanted to come back. He read over the address on his phone and found his way to the apartment in ten minutes, grabbing a bagel along the way. He administered impressively the many pictures of Zhong and the ads of the company all over te city. So, Zhong was the face of the company as well? Figures.
Wait, why "figures"?
The apartment was locked. He picked the lock and discovered the keys on the inside. He rolled his eyes so hard it sparked a headache. Cursing, he made his way to his room. Among his things, he also found some new work clothes and Han Yoonso's ID sitting on a desk, with his picture on it. He grinned and took it, proceeding to go through the apartment with the lazy precision of an old policeman searching a building.
He found a few knives and daggers under loose floorboards, duct taped to the back of the television and in such places, which he took and dumped in a briefcase, cursing the person who had decided to put them there for their stupidity. What if someone from an opposing gang had found their way in and were greeted by not only a person defenseless from airport security but also by a hoard of enthusiastic weapons? They'd make quite a mess, and Jisung was no maid.
The weapons themselves were of good quality, but he preferred to work with fists, guns and occasionally a switchblade. He'd met a girl once who said it made him look like a mafia sugar daddy. That was the first time they had ever spoken and he had never interacted with her again.
It was a modern place, all black marble and sandy tile and polished wood. It fitted his tastes, and he didn't care one bit. He finished his bagel and took his revolver out from the wardrobe, put it under the pillow and fell asleep between the stiff covers, a gun within hand's reach and a plan brewing in his mind. He already had a few ideas about how the assassination could be carried out but he ought not to get away with himself. He had to meet the guy before lovingly handcrafting a death plan, personalised to suit his every characteristic. No one would know. The way Jisung could make it, no one would care.
This would be his best work yet.
—
"You're stalking me, Huang." The office worker slipped out from between the throng of people walking towards the building, coming to match Jisung's pace.
"I'm being payed to do it," he replied, shuffling onward. No more words were exchanged as they entered the building and got into the first lift with any space free. Jisung marvelled at the amount of people who worked here. He had seen what had to be at least a hundred cars in the parking lot, a hundred people streaming in for their daily, terribly paid labour. Must be boring, being sane. His life had been boring until he'd wrapped his fingers around a deadly hilt.
(The voice in his head that had said that happened not to be his own.)
He walked to the room that had been put aside for lucky interns who'd payed so much to get talked to and taught by someone younger than them, the famous Zhong Chenle. Inspiring child CEO. Marketing and finance genius. Jisung found the entire concept laughable. Some prodigy this guy would have to be.
However, he knew he had to act excited. It would be the most annoying part, but not the hardest. He was Han Yoonso, nerd, recent graduate. Happy-go-lucky rich kid who'd never had to worry about anything other than his grades. Bless him.
Jisung grinned as he entered the room, receiving a few nervous grins in return. One or two people gawked at him, wondering about his age, most likely. Jisung ignored them and fiddled with his fingers, the blonde hair already ticking him off. He looked like one of those kpop boys.
You looked like one of those kpop boys anyway, said another voice in his head. Your hair was blue.
Half an hour passed. The room was dreary, office-standard, bland and terse. Jisung had figured out six different ways to knock out everyone within the room without anyone noticing, grab a cup of coffee, and get out of the building without too much fuss. He was bored.
Some of the interns were talking to one another, sharing stories and skimming off their nervousness. Jisung wondered what he was to do about them. He had to catch Zhong's attention, had to become a close friend. It would be hard to stand out among people like these, what with their bright eyes and degrees.
He shuffled his feet slightly. Nevertheless, he was depending on meeting him today. The sooner, the better. There wasn't much he could do if he didn't at least see his target. He would be wasting a day and a night. Again, he was sure Taeyong would be fixing him a deadline. There was obviously a very important reason Zhong had to die, and he had gotten wind of the fact NCT had strangely forward morals for a gang.
A very tall girl clip-clopped her way over to the door in a flurry of red and black, then returned to her friend almost vibrating with anticipation. "He's coming!"
There was a general shuffle as people made sure they were in top condition. Everyone wanted to impress and be remembered.
Jisung grinned. He felt kind of sorry for them, but he wasn't about to tone down anything he had over them. Call him supercilious, but he wasn't only a prodigy in killing. There were hundreds of artful skills that came with that.
The door was first opened by a tall, overbearing man, obviously a bodyguard. Jisung almost huffed a sigh. He was immediately followed by yet another bodyguard, dark and scary and completely unnecessary. Were they really expecting one of the interns to attack Zhong? Upon having this thought, Jisung actually had to stifle a giddy smile.
Finally, the man himself entered the room. Well, the boy himself. He was... young. His hair looked even softer in real life. His stance was professional, and he obviously knew what he was doing, what with those hard-set eyes and and practiced neutrality. He was a good actor. He really was. Jisung, however, was getting the idea he had no idea what he was doing. Until further notice, this kid was just a kid.
Jisung put on an awed grin. The other interns were acting professional, copying the bodyguards in their stoic existences. Idiots.
Jisung brushed his hair back from his eyes. Zhong Chenle would be easily managed. Whether he managed the work of the company or not didn't matter. He was the one here closest to Zhong's age. It wasn't all that far-fetched to assume he wouldn't mind a friend.
Zhong grinned, his eyes almost crinkling, and put his hands together. Jisung raised an eyebrow, noticing the grin didn't reach his eyes much. Yikes. He didn't want to be here either. There was suddenly a bit of a chance he would randomly pick two or three favourites then treat the rest of them the exact same.
"Alright! This is only the second batch of interns I've met, but you're looking just as promising as last year's. Ok, should you know them, don't say, but you might even amount to more here. I hope you may feel at home, even if that might be stretching it a bit, as you are just after arriving here."
No wonder they wanted him to double as the face of the company. Voice like honey and a grin as pure as the stars in the sky. Jisung blinked.
They were then led from room to room to room, shown a couple of cafeterias, introduced to a few people. Zhong didn't look at them once. Jisung was growing increasingly annoyed. There was only so much you could tell about a person from the back of their jacket and the way their hair bounced when they took the stairs.
They were about done the tour when Zhong rapped one of the bodyguards on the shoulder and muttered something. Jisung, finally uninterested, dropped his eyes to the floor, but in doing so discovered Zhong's fist was clenched. Jisung shifted, wondering if anyone else had noticed. What was on Zhong's mind? There was a rather low chance of him being pissed at anything as nothing that would make someone clench and grit their teeth had happened in the last forty minutes.
Oh, are you fucking serious? Zhong was grinning again and apologising and bowing and then he was heading off in the opposite direction, back the way they had come and turned a corner, accompanied by one of the bodyguards. He was gone. The interns were handed little booklets, telling them everything that had just been explained to them. What a fruitless first day.