This island actually had a dedicated runway for planes to land. Clearly, this plan had been in the works for a long time. But I doubted these guys would let anyone on this plane go home alive. Sending someone back to their hometown was far simpler than sending them home.

A Japanese man named Fujio Kurokawa stepped out of the cockpit. He wore his hair in a small samurai-style braid at the back of his head and a brown suit. He looked elegant and refined—the mastermind behind this hijacking.

"Well then, everyone, please step down for a little tour," Kurokawa said with a slight smile. "But first, hand over all your communication devices." Under the gunmen's prodding, passengers stripped of their devices were herded off the plane. They knew stepping down meant walking into a wolf's den. But resisting meant death right now. For these upper-class folks, nothing mattered more than survival.

Well, since this rare chance came up, I might as well take that tour like the captain suggested. Unlike the panicked crowd beside me, my calmness stood out awkwardly. That was because I’d long lost the emotion of fear. Back when I couldn’t die, Organization K ran all sorts of human experiments on me. Just thinking about it brought back that dark history.

Right after stepping off the plane, I saw two burly African men in white tank tops flanking the stairs. Each held a submachine gun I couldn’t name.

Honestly, this island was stunning—clear blue waters and skies. It even had luxury villas built for leisure. If not for being a kidnappers' hideout, it’d be a rare vacation paradise.

Like the other passengers, I was driven by thugs down a white stone path lined with coconut trees. We arrived at a pure white Western-style clock tower with a spiral design.

A man in waiter’s attire opened the tower door. Inside was completely empty—just a few murals on the walls, not a single chair or table.

"Please wait here briefly. Delicious lunch will be served soon," Kurokawa announced. He then turned and waved for the waiter to lock the door. The island wasn’t huge, but circling it on foot would take an hour or two. Escaping and hiding wouldn’t be easy.

After Kurokawa left, the panicked crowd slowly calmed. A tall, handsome man stirred them up: "Everyone, we can’t just sit here waiting to die. We must contact the outside world!"

A slightly plump woman shook her head. "But they took all our devices." A bespectacled man smiled faintly. "My family specializes in electronic communications. We designed hidden gadgets for situations like this." He removed his glasses. "These are actually a miniature computer."

Hope flickered in everyone’s eyes—until beads of sweat the size of beans rolled down the man’s forehead. "Why can’t it connect? Our product works globally!" Anyone with half a brain knew jamming devices were active here.

The handsome man who’d stirred things up turned to me. "Why are you so calm?" Then they jumped to conclusions. A young woman in a purple dress pointed, eyes wide: "He must be a spy planted by the kidnappers! That’s why he’s so calm!"

Honestly, your imaginations run wild. If I were undercover, I’d never act this relaxed. But the others bought it. The handsome man lunged, grabbing my collar. "Talk! Are you working with them?" He pretended calmness, but his flickering gaze betrayed deep tension.

"If I said yes," I replied coolly, "wouldn’t you fear I have a gun?" At the word "gun," everyone stumbled back several steps.

A single pistol with a few bullets could scare off dozens. Everyone knew it couldn’t kill them all—but the first few to step up would likely die. No one wanted to be those few.

I reached into my pocket. Almost everyone tensed. Even the handsome man released my collar and backed off—thinking I’d draw a weapon. I pulled out a tin of mint candies. "Just my throat’s a bit dry."

Ignoring their stares, I popped two mints in my mouth. Refreshing. Then a girl my age stepped forward. "I believe you’re not their accomplice." She was yanked back by a well-dressed lady. "Yumiko, stop!" Their similar features suggested mother and daughter.

Yumiko broke free. "Mom, don’t stop me." Most watched warily as someone interacted with me—the supposed "kidnapper’s ally."

The girl gathered her courage and stepped closer. "If you’re not their accomplice, why so calm? You look about my age."

Was I calm? I tried recalling how I should react—but drew a blank. "Maybe my brain’s just messed up," I said casually. Their stares mirrored how people used to look at me like a monster.

Surprisingly, the girl laughed at my words. She hadn’t grasped the situation’s seriousness yet. But my perspective differed—I wasn’t worried about dying.

I offered the mint tin. "Want two?" She hesitated, then took them.

Just then, the locked door reopened. Maids wheeled in carts piled with high-class dishes—meals I rarely ate.

Kurokawa entered and bowed politely. "Dinner is served. After eating, we’ll discuss the main business—the purpose of this ‘invitation’."

I sneered inwardly. A kidnapper playing gentleman. Still, I was genuinely hungry.

Food sat untouched. They probably feared poison. They overthought it—no one would die before the kidnappers got their money.

I walked straight to a cart and took a plate of steak. "Miss, I’m not used to Western food. How should I cut this steak?" The clock tower fell silent for several seconds.

The maid I’d asked glanced at Kurokawa. He laughed. "Relax, everyone. Eat freely like this young man. I’ll have more made if needed."

One followed another. These upper-class types had likely never gone hungry. Tempted by food, they forgot their plight—even critiquing dishes between bites. Did they really think this was a dinner party?

After maids cleared the carts, Kurokawa clapped. A waiter brought a package. "Time for business. Here are phones I prepared. Call your families for your ransoms. Transfer all funds to this account." He shared the details.

Hijacking first class made their goal obvious: money.

People started calling for ransoms. I stood frozen with my phone. Kurokawa noticed my hesitation. "Trouble deciding who to call, friend?" He smiled, but his tone hinted he thought I’d stall to contact help.

He leaned close, whispering in my ear. "Sorry, these phones can’t call for help."

I met his gaze calmly. "You misunderstand, sir. I’m not seeking help. I simply have no connections. Who would I call?"

Kurokawa’s face darkened instantly. He likely saw it as a challenge. He pulled a gun to my head. "No one boards this plane without connections. Do you think I’m fooled?"

Suddenly, a fun idea struck me. "I have no connections—but I do have a unique way to make money. Want to hear it?"