The room was dark. Silent.
Only the pale glow of a night lamp lit the corners.
Framed family photos sat crooked on the dusty shelf, their smiles frozen in time.
A boy slept restlessly beneath a heavy blanket, his face twisted in pain.
"Mom… don't go… I love you, Mom… I didn't kill youuu…"
His murmurs broke the stillness.
In his dream—no, in his memory—he stood in a hallway of shadows.
His mother appeared, trembling, tears falling like rain.
"You killed me… My son… you killed your own mother."
"No! Mom, please—!"
Then the image shattered.
A hammer.
Swinging.
His hand.
Her scream.
"YOU KILLERRRRRRRRRRRR!"
RING! RING! RING!
The alarm shrieked like a warning.
The boy jolted upright in bed, gasping for air. His chest rose and fell rapidly.
Just a dream… again.
He reached for the glass of water on his nightstand, his hands trembling.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
A firm knock on the door.
"Son! Son! Wake up already!"
"Y-Yeah… I'm up…"
His voice cracked. His head still echoed with screams.
Downstairs, the scent of eggs and warm bread filled the air.
His father sat calmly at the table, dressed for work, his usual smile never quite reaching his eyes.
Father:
"Breakfast is ready, my dear."
"I'm not really hungry…"
Father:
"Please, just a little."
They sat.
The silence between them was louder than words.
DING-DONG.
The doorbell cut through the tension.
The father stood up without pause.
Father:
"I'll get it. Finish eating—you're always so slow."
So slow? But I'm the only one…
The boy looked up, confused. Before he could speak, the front door creaked open.
A young woman stood there.
Father:
"This is Mariya. She'll be working here from now on."
Mariya bowed politely.
The boy said nothing—just stared, a strange pressure building in his chest.
His father adjusted his tie, briefcase in hand.
Father (to Mariya):
"I'll leave the house to you. Take care of my son."
Mariya:
"Of course, sir. You can count on me."
The man turned to his son and opened his arms.
Father:
"Come here."
They hugged.
Then, with a low whisper, the father leaned in.
Father (whispering):
"Your next target. Meet me in the second room when you're done."
The boy didn't flinch.
He simply nodded.
And watched the door close.
Time passed.
A cup was knocked over.
"Oops! Sorry, Mariya. I'll start calling you sis, okay?"
She laughed kindly, wiping up the spill.
Mariya:
"It's fine. Go study. I'll clean this."
She turned her back.
Kind people… they always turn their backs.
The boy's hand closed around the hammer.
And with one swift motion—
BAM!
Like smashing a ripe tomato.
Her scream tore through the house.
"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Then… silence.
Her body collapsed.
The carpet drank the blood.
The boy dragged her across the floor, limbs limp.
He opened the door to the second room.
Inside, his father stood waiting—two gleaming knives in hand.
Father (smiling):
"Good job, my son."
The boy looked at him… then at the body.
Blood on his hands. Guilt in his chest.
"This is my life now.
This is my father…"
He took a deep breath, eyes empty, and finally spoke:
"My name… is Claut."
And this is the man who killed my mother.
The man who smiles while drowning in screams.
And I… am his loyal shadow.
His name is Kim.
End of Chapter 1