The next day, Irene carried all her weapons.
The Makarov pistol in her holster.
The AS Val special assault rifle with magazines packed full in her backpack.
The ceramic body armor plates Utoya had insisted she wear.
She had taken the day off, no need to go to school.
Even her cat ears weren’t fully covered, so she could easily activate her time-stopping ability at any moment.
“You’re leaving this early?
It’s not even light out yet.”
It was obvious Utoya hadn’t slept all night.
She had clung to Irene in a daze, her arms squeezing so tightly it was as if she wanted to strangle her in her embrace.
But in the morning, she still chose to let go.
“I need to scout the place, to wring every last coin out of that old man…
He won’t be at the school.
I need to go early and see.
The news hasn’t even reported on the principal being shot yet, so he must be at home or somewhere private.
The sooner I get the money, the better.”
Irene checked her bullets and guns again and again.
Even though it wasn’t her first time firing a weapon, this time was the riskiest operation yet.
She had to guarantee absolute caution.
“I have money, I can give it to you…
Can’t you really let me support you?
Those people would never find you here.
I could even take care of your sister…
I promise, I wouldn’t hurt her.”
Utoya kept trying to persuade Irene, but her mind was already made up.
Here, in this city, in this country, orphans would never truly be free.
Not unless they left this war-torn land forever.
Five hundred thousand was the minimum.
Irene needed Rosa Kaya to live a better life.
That meant even more money.
For that, she would pay any price.
“I’ll come back, I promise.
And don’t follow me, otherwise things will get messy.
If you get caught, it’ll be a disaster.”
Irene could only force a smile, reassuring Utoya again and again, though even she didn’t know if her promise could be kept.
…..
The streets were as bleak as ever.
Thanks to the Arctic Circle winds, Irene could perfectly conceal all her tactical gear beneath a large overcoat.
Leighton’s home was in the rich district, guarded by private security, somewhere she probably couldn’t get into.
But it was obvious he would first seek treatment.
He definitely wouldn’t go to a hospital—if they investigated, he’d be the first one implicated.
Conveniently, the hard drive had listed the address of a doctor.
If he needed his wounds treated, then a trusted, complicit private doctor would be the perfect choice.
And that doctor lived not far from the orphanage.
“Huh?
Rosa Kaya?”
Irene’s eyes widened as she saw a figure running out of an alley.
Almost without thinking, she pulled her into her arms.
What was she doing here?
In this… black market district?
“Sis, sis, sis…”
Rosa Kaya greedily soaked in Irene’s warmth, whispering broken murmurs, clinging to her as if trying to merge into her body.
Only after a long time did she reluctantly loosen her grip when Irene pushed her back.
“Wait, Rosa Kaya, it’s dangerous here, don’t linger.”
Irene scanned the area warily.
Luckily, no one was around.
Otherwise Rosa Kaya would’ve been in real danger.
Why was she wandering here so early in the morning?
Even if the orphanage was nearby.
“I… I saw you didn’t come to school, so I wanted to find you.
And I won’t get hurt…
Um, you’ll eat dinner with me tonight, right?”
Rosa Kaya lifted her head, green eyes swirling with unreadable emotions.
Irene suddenly felt uneasy…
As if something terrible would happen if she refused.
But why?
This was her sister.
Irene shook her head, pushing the thought aside.
What mattered more was how Rosa Kaya had found her, and why she approached with such a strange excuse.
“Alright… but how did you find me?
Why come here?
It was… the doll, wasn’t it.”
Irene sighed, glancing at the little doll attached to her Makarov.
Honestly, she wasn’t surprised.
Rosa Kaya had always been a child lacking in security, but this level of dependence…
It was like a child terrified of their parents leaving them alone.
“Mm… you don’t dislike it, right?
You knew, but still kept it close to you.
So, I wanted to give you another gift.”
Rosa Kaya lowered her head shyly, carefully watching Irene.
Only when she saw no sign of disgust did she brighten and lean close again.
Even in the icy wind, her body broke into sweat instantly, her heartbeat visibly quickening.
She carefully pulled out a somewhat rough box, solemnly holding it out to Irene.
Her voice was soft:
“If other bad people… or if anyone tries to get close to you, there’s something inside to help.
You have to take it…”
Having said this, she seemed to make some firm decision, and quickly walked back toward the orphanage, glancing back every few steps.
What a… truly adorable child.
Irene gave a casual smile.
If there really were bad people, her marksmanship would prove who the real prey was.
She didn’t open the gift right away.
Suppressing her doubts, she shoved the little metal box deep into her backpack and moved quickly toward the address recorded on the hard drive.
The location was near the orphanage, in a district of old apartments and small workshops, with few standalone houses.
Soon, she found her target.
A house that stood out from its surroundings, a detached building with brick walls and an iron gate.
Its faded stone-brick exterior.
Thick dark curtains drawn across the second-floor windows.
And most eye-catching of all—a black luxury car parked in the corner of the yard.
A visitor’s car, utterly out of place with its surroundings.
Leighton was here.
Irene crept along the side of the house, pressing against the wall, listening intently.
Her unused cat ears twitched faintly under her hood, four ears picking up the sounds inside.
Inside came muffled groans of pain and labored breathing.
It was definitely Leighton.
Then a calm, steady, even slightly caring male voice spoke, slow and deliberate, soothing the patient:
“Mr. Leighton, please try to relax.
Your wound is quite complicated.
This bullet is custom, isn’t it?
Its penetration is extremely strong, but luckily, it hasn’t done irreparable damage.
I’m clearing out necrotic tissue.
This process will be uncomfortable, but trust my professional judgment.”
It was the private doctor.
Dr. Harper.
A blond man with gold-rimmed glasses, wearing a white coat.
He looked refined and scholarly, his voice gentle.
But anyone tied up with Leighton could hardly be a good man.
“Uncomfortable?
You call this uncomfortable?
Harper!
My leg’s about to snap off!”
Leighton’s roar was as loud as ever, but beneath the pain was a trace of anger at Harper’s excessive calm.
“Hurry the hell up!
Quit stalling!
I’ll pay you double!
Just get those damned fragments out and stop the bleeding!”
“Money is not the priority, Mr. Leighton.”
Harper’s tone was as composed as ever, as if discussing the weather.
But his words carried a hint of cold calculation.
“The priority is making sure you don’t suffer permanent damage from infection or blood loss—or worse.
As for speed, you know as well as I do: precision requires time and focus.
You chose not to go to a proper hospital.
That means accepting certain… extra risks and costs of time, doesn’t it?”
At the end of his words was a subtle, unpleasantly drawn-out tone.
The faint sound of metal tools working inside flesh echoed, followed by another pained gasp from Leighton.
“Don’t give me that crap!”
Leighton’s voice was hoarse with agony.
“The briefcase…
You know what’s inside!
That maniac has it now!
Harper, you’ve got to help me!
Help me get it back!
Or at least cover up every trace!
Those photos…
Those photos can’t get out!
If they leak, we’re both finished!
Don’t forget—those ‘special treatment’ tapes, you’re in them too!”
The room fell silent for a moment, only the soft clinking of instruments could be heard.
Then Harper’s voice rose again, still gentle, but with an icy undercurrent:
“Mr. Leighton, I think you’re mistaken.”
His tone even carried a touch of just-right, wronged innocence.
“Those tapes were merely some of my pioneering therapy sessions.
Whatever happened to the patients was entirely normal.
And I’m sure Mr. Remy wouldn’t mind such minor interludes.
But you…
This caliber of handgun is only issued to officers in the Soviel Federation.
Consider who you might have provoked.”
Leighton was struck speechless, panting heavily, reduced to groans of pain.
Harper’s voice returned to its professional steadiness:
“There.
This major fragment is out.
Please endure a little longer.
I need to flush the wound completely and apply pressure dressings.
As for your concerns…”
He gave a soft sigh, sounding full of understanding and resignation.
“Once you survive this hurdle, we’ll plan further.
After all, in this city, how many doctors can provide such ‘special services’ and keep their mouths shut?
Don’t you agree?”
The implication—that he was indispensable, and the threat beneath—was perfectly clear.
Irene leaned against the cold wall, violet eyes beneath her hood flashing with gravity.
This Harper was no ordinary black-market doctor.
Behind his mask of professionalism and gentleness was a cold, greedy serpent skilled at manipulating people.
And he was most certainly, absolutely not a good man.