The elevator hummed softly as it ascended, the vibrations barely perceptible. A quiet ding echoed through the enclosed space, signaling arrival. The doors slid open to reveal a vast, eerily silent room, where black marble stretched across every surface, polished to a mirror-like sheen. The chandeliers above, adorned with cascading crystal ornaments, swayed slightly, their reflections dancing like ghosts on the glossy floor.

A lone figure stepped out.

Her movements were unhurried, her footsteps soundless against the marble. The only noise that followed her was the faint rasp of metal—her gun shifting against the smooth fabric of her suit. She moved with the effortless grace of a shadow, untouched by the extravagant display around her. The lavishness meant nothing. Soon, the one who had built it would be nothing as well.

She came to a stop before a massive set of double doors. Without hesitation, she placed her fingers on the handle, her other hand lifting the gun with practiced ease. A slow, almost lazy smile tugged at her lips. The kind a predator wore before it struck.

The doors swung open with a quiet creak, and in that instant, the gangsters inside froze, their eyes widening. One of them let out a shocked laugh, clearly incredulous.

“You—how did you—?” He trailed off, his words stuck in his throat.

Zhao Lan didn't respond. She didn’t need to. She already knew their surprise wasn’t just at her arrival, but at how she’d gotten in. The building’s security systems had been down long before she’d stepped foot in the elevator. She’d disarmed the alarms, neutralized the guards, and bypassed the surveillance systems. No one had realized she was there until it was too late.

Without warning, Zhao Lan moved.

The first man reached for his rifle, but Zhao Lan was already in motion. Her body was a blur as she slid past him, her fingers flicking the weapon out of his hands with a deft twist. Before he could react, she slammed his face into the polished marble with such force that the crack of bone echoed through the room. As he crumpled to the ground, Zhao Lan had already moved to the next target.

The second man fired his handgun, but Zhao Lan was faster. She ducked low, letting the bullets whiz harmlessly above her, her eyes focused, calculating. She swept his legs out from under him with a quick, sweeping motion, causing him to crash to the ground with a hard thud. As he reached for a second weapon, a hidden blade, she grabbed his wrist with lightning speed, twisting it behind his back until the crack of his joints filled the air. He let out a strangled scream, but Zhao Lan silenced him by slamming her elbow into the back of his skull. His head snapped forward with a sickening crunch, and he fell limp.

The remaining two men, startled but still armed, exchanged a glance. They moved in tandem, each drawing a larger weapon—an automatic rifle and a grenade launcher. The room became tense with the threat of firepower.

Zhao Lan didn’t flinch.

She wasn’t just a trained fighter, she was a master of adapting to any situation. The man with the rifle aimed at her chest, but Zhao Lan swiftly grabbed a nearby chair, using it as a shield. The bullets ricocheted off the heavy metal frame, and she launched the chair into the man’s chest with devastating force, knocking him backward.

The second man raised the grenade launcher, his finger tightening on the trigger. Zhao Lan’s instincts screamed. She was too close, there was no time to dodge after the shot.

She lunged forward instead.

A sharp kick to his wrist sent the barrel veering upward just as he fired. The grenade shot past her, slamming into the chandelier above. Glass and metal rained down, the explosion shaking the room, but Zhao Lan was already moving, twisting his arm, forcing the weapon out of his grip.

A quick glance at the man with the rifle, who had already regained his footing, was rushing toward her, intent on finishing the job. But Zhao Lan was always one step ahead. As he closed the distance, she reached into her boot, producing a thin, flexible wire. She flung it out in a swift, practiced motion, wrapping it around the man’s throat before he even realized what was happening. With a quick yank, the wire tightened, cutting off his air supply. His eyes bulged, and he struggled for a few seconds, but Zhao Lan’s grip was unyielding. His body went limp as she released the wire, letting him fall to the ground in an undignified heap.

The last man, the grenade launcher wielder, had no time to process what had just happened. He was already in Zhao Lan’s grasp. She moved in close, her hand gripping his wrist and twisting his arm until the sound of bone snapping filled the air. He howled in pain, but it was a brief sound. Zhao Lan locked him in a chokehold with one arm while her other hand reached for her gun.

The man’s breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled in vain against her hold. Zhao Lan leaned in, her voice soft and almost tender in its cruelty.

“You should have known better than to bring a toy to a fight,” she whispered.

Two shots echoed, then a wet, sickening tear split the silence. He fell to the ground, his body twitching for a few moments before falling still, a severed arm landing with a dull thud next to him. 

Zhao Lan stepped over the limp limb without a second glance, her attention fixed on the man crouched near the window. He was a mess of ragged breaths and trembling limbs, his scarred hands clutching at the floor as though it might save him. Once, those scars had been badges of survival, proof of strength. Now, they were nothing but reminders of battles won against lesser threats.

The bodies of his subordinates lay strewn across the marble, their lifeless eyes reflecting the pale glow of the moon filtering through the window. What had once been a pristine black surface was now stained deep crimson, the scent of blood thick in the air.

Zhao Lan approached him, her steps unhurried. Stray strands of her dark hair framed her face, swaying gently with her movements. Though petite compared to the man before her, she loomed over him, exuding a presence far greater than her size.

His breath hitched as she raised the gun, her downturned hazel eyes locking onto his. There was no urgency in her movements, no need for theatrics. Just quiet certainty.

"You know what you've done."

A single shot rang out.

The man’s body collapsed, joining the corpses littering the room. Zhao Lan exhaled softly, flicking a stray drop of blood from her fingers. Then, without another glance, she turned and strode toward the exit, her steps once again swallowed by silence.

***

Zhao Lan stepped into the dimly lit office, the scent of old books and cigarette smoke clinging to the air. Behind a massive wooden desk, a man sat with his fingers steepled, watching her with sharp, calculating eyes. Despite the years that had roughened his face, the weight of his presence was undeniable. He was Wei Hu, the man who had pulled her from the streets and made her into what she was today.

Zhao Lan tossed a bloodied glove onto the desk and leaned against a chair, tilting her head. "Another one down. Who's next?"

Wei Hu exhaled slowly, the ember of his cigarette glowing briefly in the dim light. Instead of answering, he pushed a manila envelope toward her.

She arched a brow and flicked it open, expecting details of another target. Instead, she found a school enrollment form.

Silence stretched between them. Zhao Lan stared at the paper as if it were some incomprehensible riddle. "...What is this?"

Wei Hu took a deep drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out. "You're going to school."

She let out a short laugh, tossing the envelope back onto the desk. "You're joking."

"I'm not." His tone was firm, unwavering.

Zhao Lan's amusement faded. "Why? My skills are—"

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"—wasted." Wei Hu interrupted, standing up. His gaze, though sharp, held something deeper. Regret. Concern. "You're young, Lan. Too young to have nothing but blood on your hands. You think I saved you just to make you a weapon?"

Zhao Lan clenched her jaw. "I owe you."

"You don’t owe me anything, girl." Wei Hu walked around the desk, stopping in front of her. His hand, calloused from years of war, settled on her shoulder, grounding yet heavy. "You deserve more than a life of blood and orders. Friends, ambition—hell, maybe even a hobby that doesn’t involve sharp objects."

Zhao Lan scoffed, arms crossed. “You expect me to suddenly enjoy… what? Studying? Gossiping about boys?”

Wei Hu raised an eyebrow. “You could gossip about girls too.”

She blinked. “That’s not the point.”

“The point is,” Wei Hu said, tone softer now, “I pulled you out of hell once. If I don’t give you a way out of this life now, I’d be throwing you right back in.”

For a moment, Zhao Lan hesitated. Wei Hu rarely spoke about the past. About what he had saved her from.

Then he smirked. “Besides, if school turns out to be hell, you’ll be fine. You’re a demon anyway.”

Zhao Lan exhaled, somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

Wei Hu smiled, his voice turning gruff again. "Look, kid. Go, try it out. If you hate it, we’ll talk. But at least give it a damn chance."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. The idea of school, of blending in with normal people, felt more terrifying than a battlefield. But the rare softness in Wei Hu’s expression made her hesitate.

"...Fine."

Wei Hu grunted approvingly. "Good. Your uniform’s already waiting for you. Try not to kill anyone on the first day."

Zhao Lan chuckled, grabbing the envelope as she turned for the door. "No promises.”

***

The morning sun crept through the blinds, streaking the assassin’s bedroom with golden light. Zhao Lan sat at the edge of her bed, legs crossed, gaze fixed on the neatly folded school uniform before her. The crisp fabric was free of wrinkles, smelling faintly of fresh detergent—so different from the scent of gunpowder and steel that had clung to her clothes just hours ago.

With a quiet sigh, she reached for the thin-framed glasses on her nightstand, sliding them onto her face. They were light, barely noticeable, but the weight of what they represented felt heavier than any weapon she had ever carried.

She ran a hand through her long, dark hair before standing, fluid and unhurried, as if she were preparing for just another mission. But the moment she slipped the uniform over her shoulders, something felt off. It wasn’t the fit, the tailored fabric hugged her frame well enough, it was the… normalcy of it. The lack of armor. The absence of straps securing a hidden blade.

Her lips quirked in faint amusement as she turned to the mirror.

The girl staring back at her looked nothing like an assassin. Long black hair draped over the stiff, neatly pressed uniform. Her straight bangs framing her hazel eyes were now dulled behind the lenses. No blood, no weapons, no danger. Just a student.

Wei Hu, what exactly are you trying to do?

She shook off the thought, adjusting the hem of her skirt with practiced ease before grabbing her bag and slipping out the door.

The streets bustled with life as the city stirred awake. Students in matching uniforms filled the sidewalks, their laughter mixing with the rhythmic hum of bicycle bells and distant car horns. The air smelled of freshly steamed buns and sweet soy milk, the kind of scent that clung to the morning like a familiar embrace.

Zhao Lan walked at a steady pace, neither hurried nor hesitant, but the unfamiliar routine put her on edge in a way battle never had. Her surroundings felt too open, too exposed. She could hear footsteps behind her, conversations buzzing at her side. In her world, that many blind spots meant vulnerability.

Still, she forced herself to relax, slipping her hands into her pockets as her gaze lazily flickered across the crowd. She was trained to notice details most would miss—subtle shifts in movement, the slight tremor of a hand, the quiet hesitation of someone trying not to be noticed. But here, in the presence of carefree students and exhausted office workers, none of it mattered.

She wasn’t hunting a target.

She was just another face in the crowd.

The school soon came into view, a prestigious institution standing proudly behind iron gates. Chengyang Academy. Its name was carved elegantly into a stone plaque, the bold characters almost daring anyone unworthy to step inside. Beyond the gates, pristine white buildings stood in perfect symmetry, their windows reflecting the golden morning light. A sprawling courtyard stretched before them, lined with cherry blossom trees just beginning to bloom. The petals danced lightly in the breeze, brushing against students as they passed by.

Zhao Lan took in the scene with a neutral expression, her gaze drifting idly.

But the moment Zhao Lan stepped past the school gates, she felt out of place.

Not in the way an assassin might feel out of place at a diplomatic event—where people spoke in veiled threats and pleasantries masked hidden daggers. No, this was different. This was chaos.

Students moved in shifting clusters, their conversations overlapping into a blur of noise. Laughter rang through the air, books slammed shut, and someone shouted across the courtyard about a lost homework assignment. The academy grounds, though pristine and orderly in design, were anything but quiet.

Zhao Lan walked with an air of effortless confidence, her long legs carrying her forward at a steady pace. And yet… she had no idea where she was going.

Her fingers twitched at her side, resisting the urge to pull out a map—or, better yet, an earpiece where Wei Hu could bark directions in her ear. Unfortunately, neither option was available. She had only herself, an unfamiliar campus, and absolutely no prior experience in navigating a school.

Still, she refused to let it show.

She adjusted her glasses and continued walking, blending effortlessly into the crowd.

The glasses helped. More than she expected.

Back in the mirror at Wei Hu’s estate, she had barely recognized herself. The thin black frames softened the sharpness of her hazel eyes, muting the naturally seductive curve of her gaze. They cast just enough shadow over her face to dull the striking symmetry of her features. Combined with the neatly pressed school uniform, she looked… ordinary.

And it worked.

Despite the glances thrown her way, most students took one look at her and dismissed her as just another transfer student—nothing special, nothing worth a second thought.

Good.

She much preferred moving unnoticed.

Or so she thought.

Because while Zhao Lan was confident in her ability to adapt, she had underestimated just how big the school was. The hallways stretched endlessly before her, a maze of identical classrooms, lockers, and staircases leading to places unknown.

She stopped in her tracks.

Three different paths stretched before her. Left? Right? Straight?

She analyzed the layout, searching for patterns, but found none. No sign of landmarks, no instinctive sense of direction. A mission would be easier, at least then, there would be blood trails or enemies to eliminate in her way.

For the first time in a long time, Zhao Lan was genuinely lost.

She lifted a hand to her chin in thought.

Then, someone cleared their throat beside her.

“Um… are you lost?”

Zhao Lan turned her head, and her gaze landed on a girl standing a few feet away.

She had short, choppy brown hair that barely reached her shoulders, a casual posture, and a sharp, observant glint in her eyes. A single glance told Zhao Lan that this girl wasn’t the type to hesitate when asking questions.

Zhao Lan considered her options. She could lie. Say she knew exactly where she was going and walk in a random direction, hoping to figure it out later. Or…

Zhao Lan smiled.

She offered a slow, easy tilt of her lips, subtle yet disarming. The kind of smile that had made hardened criminals rethink their life choices before their final breath.

Zhao Lan herself wasn’t aware of that.

To her, she was just being polite.

To the short haired girl, it felt like she’d just been hit with a romantic drama close-up. The air in the hallway suddenly felt too warm.

The short haired girl visibly stiffened.

Behind them, a male student walking past tripped over his own feet. Another girl, halfway through sipping her drink, choked. Someone else fumbled with their phone, accidentally taking a burst of blurry pictures.

Zhao Lan nodded, unaware of the ripple effect she had just caused.

The glasses dulled Zhao Lan’s beauty, yes, but they did nothing to change the way her voice dipped into something low and smooth, or the way her posture radiated an effortless grace.

“I suppose I am,” Zhao Lan admitted, her tone unhurried. “Would you like to guide me?”

The short haired girl blinked. Then blinked again.

She had seen transfer students before. Some awkward, some confident, some trying too hard. But never had she seen this.

Zhao Lan wasn’t just asking for directions—she was recruiting. And the short haired girl, against all logic, found herself nodding.

“Y-yeah. Sure,” she said, clearing her throat as she turned to lead the way. “By the way, my name is Le Yao.”

Zhao Lan nodded and followed, unaware of the subtle tension in Le Yao’s movements.

Day one of school, and she had already left an impression.

And she hadn’t even tried.