"Was that meant for my ears?" Rhode asked, fixing Waymen with a serious gaze.

Waymen sized him up and down. "Are you *really* ten? Or some age-reversed monster?"

Rhode fell silent for a moment.

"Alright, alright—I *was* doing it on purpose," Waymen sighed, shaking his head helplessly. "What was I thinking, taking a ten-year-old so seriously?"

He now realized how unreasonable it was: barging in on Rhode, a mere kid, and talking about killing someone right in front of him. He might even scar the boy. He hadn’t meant to force any ideology—just to stop Rhode from idolizing assassins.

With a sigh, Waymen retracted the gun he’d aimed.

"Huh?" Rhode blinked in confusion. He’d been deep in turmoil, never expecting Waymen to holster the weapon without warning.

"Go home. Ten’s the age for growing. Hit the sack the moment you’re back," Waymen said, grabbing Rhode by the collar and leaping down from the wall.

"But your mission—"

"Not happening." Waymen shot him a look. "You *want* to watch me kill someone?"

"Not really..." Though Rhode had taken down an assassin himself, it still felt unreal. The thought of killing? Unthinkable. It all felt like a dream. What *would* he have done if Waymen had fired? Come to think of it… this assassin uncle was *really* strange.

---

Rhode went to bed early that night.

The next morning, a Clinton news report left him silent for a long time.

Sir Bancroft’s atrocities had been abruptly, inexplicably exposed. Most missing youths in Clinton were victims of his brutality. The evidence appeared overnight—delivered straight to the sheriff, practically shoved in his face.

Vankarel wasn’t some medieval fantasy realm; its institutions mirrored the Renaissance—courts, police stations, all thriving. With Sir Bancroft now in custody, only trial remained. Under current law, execution was near-certain.

When asked *why* he murdered those youths, the old man’s reply stunned everyone:

"—Jealousy." Sir Bancroft smiled gently—a smile that chilled the blood.

How could a philanthropist who funded orphanages commit such heinous acts for such a bizarre reason?

*The world isn’t only light; darkness exists too. But it’s never all dark—light always remains. People are the same. Everyone has two sides.*

Waymen’s words from last night echoed clearly in Rhode’s mind.

"Was it… him?" Rhode murmured, clutching the newspaper.

"Rhode, who’s ‘him’?" Shilo leaned in curiously.

"The sheriff uncle," Rhode replied without blinking.

"Shilo, the paper’s yours—I’m heading out!" He hopped off his chair and tossed the paper to her.

Shilo caught it blankly. A full minute passed before she began reading, dazed.

"Sir Bancroft’s case," she murmured, eyebrows lifting slightly. *So that’s what Brother was reading.*

---

Rhode burst out the door and sprinted—no looking back—toward the street where he’d first met Waymen.

Sure enough, the eccentric assassin sat at the same snack stall, calmly eating baozi as if the morning’s headlines meant nothing to him.

"Uncle!" Rhode plopped into the seat beside him.

"I’m not *that* old," Waymen grimaced. "Why you again…?"

He’d half-expected the kid to return, but seeing Rhode still made his stomach twist.

"Sir Bancroft…" Rhode ventured.

"Mm." Waymen gave a faint hum—no elaboration. But the silence confirmed it.

After finishing his baozi, Waymen guided Rhode to a quiet alley.

"So. What do you want?"

"I want to become an assassin!" Rhode declared, dead serious.

The stall owner shot him a wary glance.

"*Cough—cough!*" Waymen choked, hastily covering the boy’s mouth. "Don’t you get it? *This* is what assassins do." He slashed a finger across his throat. "Exposing Bancroft wasn’t justice. My employer just said: *He dies. Any way.*"

"I know," Rhode nodded firmly.

"I don’t think you do," Waymen shook his head hard. *If I’d shot that old man last night… maybe he’d finally understand.* Ten years old! *Did I just drag this kid into the abyss?*

"I want to be someone like *you*," Rhode said, rolling up his sleeves, each word deliberate.

If he were older, he might never have said it—too childish? Too hollow?

But right now, at ten, he had the courage.

And in that moment, Rhode realized: he didn’t want to be an assassin.

He wanted to be *like Waymen*—the one who saved him.