Fulfill My Wish

Professional ethics and the desire to survive were locked in a constant tug-of-war.

In truth, this wasn't really a big deal.

But the crux of the problem now was that he had once signed a notarized contract with this boss.

If he were to breach the contract on his own, he would be hunted to the ends of the earth by that private notary department.

Tsk, he didn't want to invite a mountain of trouble.

Furthermore, not being treacherous was the absolute bottom line he set for himself.

He couldn't imagine what he would become if he broke the final principle he had established for himself three years ago.

Since he only had a fleeting moment, Carls knew now was not the time to overthink.

He raised his hands, stepping aside to reveal his boss behind him.

"Fine, fine, you win, little mister."

As if a lock had been clicked open, Carls underwent a complete change in demeanor.

What could be more important than his life?

He didn't think he had done anything wrong.

It was just a job, after all.

As that little mister had said, there was no need to throw his life away.

"You... you can't!"

The man watched Carls walk away, his voice trembling.

He couldn't believe that the man hailed as the "most professional" would make such a choice!

"You are violating the Alec Contract by doing this..."

Before he could finish, a sharp blade flew past.

It was the short blade from Carls's hand, flying straight toward the man's chest.

Unfortunately, someone was faster than him, striking the thrown blade away.

Clang.

The blade vibrated as it embedded itself into the wall.

The man had escaped death, a false alarm.

Carls raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding the youth's actions.

Weren't you going to kill him? Why save him now?

The youth's voice rang out slowly, providing the answer.

"Oh, sir, you mustn't do that; doing so would ruin the artwork."

Hey, hey, weren't you the one protecting him just a moment ago?

How could you change your stance and be so impatient to kill him?

Even if you were afraid this man would leak secrets, there was no need to be in such a rush.

Besides, this "protagonist" couldn't possibly escape, so how could he tell others about your "treachery"?

Shrugging, Coleman approached the two.

He smiled, looking very elegant.

"Besides, as the one wielding the knife, at the very least, one should let the deceased close their eyes in peace, shouldn't they?"

Asking rhetorically, Coleman felt this was an excellent quality of a gentleman.

Respecting everyone.

Even if this person was about to become a corpse.

However, Coleman would generally grant the respect a person deserved.

Elegant and noble people never look down on others from any angle.

They treat everyone equally.

How should one interpret this?

If Coleman were to explain it, it would be this:

It is like treating ingredients.

You wouldn't lower the price of a pig or cook a dish poorly just because the pig is ugly, as a way of showing your disdain.

Likewise, Coleman would not deprive the protagonist of his status just because he had poor character, rude manners, or an ugly face.

No matter how humble or noble this person was in life, to Coleman, they were merely "embellishments" for the work.

That bright red blood would not change its fate as a beautiful pigment because of the person's race or skin color.

Treating everyone equally.

Coleman considered himself to have done a fine job.

Therefore, he had always referred to himself as an elegant gentleman among artists.

"Is there anything else you would like to ask?"

Ignoring the strange look in Carls's eyes, Coleman bowed with gentlemanly grace, smiling as he spoke to this "protagonist."

The man looked left and right, eventually sinking into endless despair.

Because he realized that in the current situation, there was only a dead end.

There was no possibility of survival.

"Who are you? Why do you want to kill me?"

It was meaningless, but he just wanted to die with his questions answered.

As for revenge?

With what could he exact revenge?

This child could even defeat a Hunter capable of using Nen.

He had even severed one of the Hunter's hands.

The small Colai Family could never afford to hire a higher-level Hunter.

How could there be any revenge?!

Coleman tilted his head, not answering the first question.

He smiled and said indifferently, "Do you remember? A few days ago, you hired a bunch of insects to attack the Zoldyck Family?"

"What... so that's how it is..."

Panic flashed across his face, only to turn into dazed despair the next second, and finally, a resigned smile.

It was unbearably bitter: "I knew it!"

"Child, can I ask you one last question?"

Slumping onto the ground in defeat, the man had no heart left to resist.

To avoid disaster, he had specifically chosen to hide his estate deep in the mountains.

Who would have thought!

It had become an obstacle to his own survival!

It provided the most natural protective barrier for those killers.

There was no way to get reinforcements, nor any way to escape.

"Mm-hmm."

Slowly pulling on his black leather gloves, Coleman made the final preparations before his "painting."

"Did the Zoldycks send you?"

Asking a bizarre question, the man's eyes shone with obsession.

But Coleman understood.

He was asking whether Coleman was a servant of the household or a member of the Zoldyck Family.

The word "send" was used quite cleverly.

Chuckling lightly, Coleman did not hide the truth.

"Of course not. Why would the Zoldyck Family need to send me?"

Asking back, Coleman felt he had already given him the answer.

If a member of the Zoldyck Family were to retaliate against someone for attacking their family, would they need the head of the house to send them?

Wasn't that a matter of course?

Hearing this answer, the man smiled with satisfaction.

What merit did he have?

To think that a direct descendant of the Zoldycks had come personally to kill his entire family.

What an honor!

One had to know that hiring a Zoldyck Family assassin cost millions, or even hundreds of millions of Jenie!

Coleman looked at the man, whose eyes had already lost their light, and showed no reaction, simply grabbing him by the back of his collar and walking toward the room he had prepared.

"Oh, right, sir, can you tell me now what that move was?"

As he walked, Coleman asked the uninvited guest.

He had assumed this fellow would take the opportunity to run away.

He hadn't expected him to be such a curious breed.

He had actually followed along.

Not only was his life no longer in danger, but he had also shattered his final bottom line; Carls followed along with a grin.

He clasped his right hand behind his head, answering in a leisurely manner.

"That's called 'Nen,' a type of ability. Some people can master it, but you're too young right now, so it's not suitable for you to awaken it. Besides, your family will supervise you eventually; you'll be able to learn it if you just wait a while."

Looking around as if searching for something, Carls shed the composed demeanor he had just displayed.

"...What are you looking for, sir? Perhaps I can assist you."

It was all an act, but this posture of Coleman's was likely something he could never change.

The honorifics, the tone, the attitude—everything was perfectly measured.

If one were to listen only to his voice, they might mistake him for a helpful, refined young gentleman.

His appearance was warm and sincere, without a hint of falsehood.

Yet, there was something strange permeating every aspect of it.

"The arm, the arm you tore off," Carls said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "If I don't find it, how am I supposed to get someone to reattach it?"

You've got to be kidding me. What kind of job results in losing an arm?

That's a massive loss, isn't it?

"Oh, my dear sir, I do hope you can be a bit more normal."

Coleman raised his eyes, feeling somewhat helpless.

This guy had clearly been acting steady and reliable just a moment ago.

How did he turn into this after the hostility between them was resolved?

Is he truly not afraid?

For instance, that I might suddenly strike and kill him?

"Hm? I've always been like this. What you saw earlier was just a performance. I mean, I'm a bodyguard; if you aren't reliable, who would hire you?"

Blinking, Carls said with a grin, "But speaking of which, why do you like such 'art'?"

Although Carls knew that all sorts of weirdos existed in this wretched world, this was the first time he had encountered someone whose behavior was so contradictory.

Moreover, he was just a child.

How on earth did he develop such a personality?

"Because the act of killing itself is an art."

He answered as if it were a matter of course.

This was one of the few convictions and creeds Coleman held.

It was what his master from his previous life had told him.

Killing is an art, and we, as assassins, must become the pinnacle of artists within this craft!

Every person is a treasure bestowed upon this barren world by God, so what could be more beautiful than painting with such treasures?

His master's answer to him had been: nothing.

Coleman also believed there was nothing.

Therefore, he enjoyed this art.

He also experienced the deep satisfaction and pleasure it brought him.

He was unable to extricate himself.

Whenever time permitted, he would "improvise a painting."

Thus, he was once dubbed the "Fanatical Murderous Artist" by those who hunted him.

Morbid and insane.

No one could stop him.

He was like an addict trapped in the abyss of narcotics.

Sinking into this crimson beauty.

Losing himself.

"Besides, don't you think this is beautiful?"

Speaking with a rhetorical tone, Coleman slowly pushed open the door. "They look as if they are still alive."

True human sculptures.

That room was the boudoir of the man's daughter.

With wide, staring eyes, the man looked at his wife, whose expression was vacant, and his daughter, who lay in her mother's arms with her eyes closed.

The two were snuggled together, sitting in a rocking chair.

In the woman's hand, there was even an open fairy tale book.

Such a scene looked as if the woman were coaxing a little girl to sleep.

And the little girl listening to the fairy tale was closing her eyes, enjoying the embrace of her mother.

"Look, this painting is still missing you!"

Coleman let go of his collar, speaking as he skipped about.

His gaze locked onto the man, the corners of his mouth curling into an eerie smile.

"It's still missing a 'father'."

Licking his lips, Coleman's face was full of satisfaction.

What a beautiful, tender moment.

A family of three, harmonious and close.

Crimson eyes reflected the man's terrified expression.

"Generous sir, you will grant this child's wish, won't you?"