LONG CHAPTER AHEAD
Turner never got to finish.
Yoon slammed a hand over his mouth the moment she heard “casino”.
“Shut up. Shut that damn mouth.”
The last thing she needed was Lucas hearing that.
If he found out she’d gone gambling again, she was screwed.
The first time she tried it out of curiosity, he had ripped her apart for it.
And if he found out she’d gone again?
Yeah. Not happening.
Yoon could handle a lot of things, but Lucas’s full-blown fury wasn’t one of them.
Turner shuddered at the way she clamped his mouth shut, her eyes practically screaming death threats.
Meanwhile, Lucas’s eye twitched.
Even without hearing the full story, he knew something was up.
His reddish-brown eyes settled on Yoon, his gaze heavy, unreadable.
The tension in the air thickened.
Feeling the pressure close in, Yoon pivoted—and threw Turner straight into the fire.
“Turner must’ve been drinking somewhere. He’s talking nonsense.”
She tightened her grip.
Turner’s face started turning red.
Not just his cheeks—his entire face.
Since she had accidentally blocked his nose, he was struggling to breathe.
Turner frantically slapped at Yoon’s hand.
He really was about to die.
Only when his face was on the verge of bursting did Yoon finally let go.
Turner gasped for air, coughing violently.
“Haa—hff—!!”
He had almost died.
From a single wrong sentence.
“Cough, cough—!”
Yoon tilted her head, watching him struggle with a mocking sigh.
“Damn, Turner. That business trip really weakened you.”
……Huh?
Turner’s wide, disbelieving stare locked onto her.
EXCUSE ME?! WHOSE FAULT DO YOU THINK THIS IS?!
“What the hell did I do wrong?! Is this how you treat someone who worries about you?”
“Mhm. I don’t need that kind of ‘worry,’ so shut up and stay put.”
Yoon brushed off Turner’s complaints with ease, smoothly loading her gun and aiming toward the target.
BANG!
Right as she pulled the trigger—
“Ballantine’s 30-Year Cask Edition!”
Turner practically screamed the words.
Yoon froze.
…Ballantine’s 30-Year Cask Edition?
Her pupils wavered violently.
Turner glared at her, his eyes screaming: “You hear that? And you’re STILL not apologizing to me?!”
Yoon stared at him for a beat.
Then—she instantly lowered the gun and apologized.
“It’s totally my fault. Every single bit of it, from head to toe.”
Her rapid-fire apology came with a dead-serious expression as she gripped both of Turner’s hands firmly.
So let’s drink it together.
Turner smirked like a true victor.
Lucas, who had been watching this absurd exchange, let out a quiet laugh, momentarily forgetting his irritation.
What am I even supposed to do with these two?
By now, Yoon and Turner had fully entered their own world, deep in discussion about when to open the bottle, what snacks to pair with it, and how best to savor the experience.
Lucas, feeling a headache incoming, pulled out his phone and made a call.
It barely rang before a deep voice answered.
—Do you have orders for me, sir?
“Has the captain of the 5th Avenue crew been visiting the casino lately?”
—…Yes, sir.
“Blacklist them. Effective immediately. If she’s spotted in the casino, I want a call—immediately.”
He had warned her before, and yet, she had gone back anyway.
Fine.
Then he’d just ban her altogether.
Lucas had a very specific reason for hating her gambling habit.
The casino Yoon had been sneaking off to wasn’t just any casino—it was one run by the Maier family.
A hub for mafia, syndicates, and all kinds of shady figures—the kind of place where fights broke out over nothing.
And the real problem?
She was too damn good at gambling.
Disgustingly good.
Her absurdly sharp instincts let her wipe out tables, raking in chips like it was nothing.
Which would have been fine—except Yoon also had an unmatched talent for pissing people off.
She didn’t just win—she won in the most aggravating way possible, driving people insane.
And, of course, this led to fights. Constantly.
The organization’s men had been groaning about it for ages.
What made it even worse?
She had an uncanny ability to vanish at the perfect moment—always escaping just before she could be officially blacklisted.
Honestly, he’d rather she and Turner just stuck to raiding the Maier liquor stash instead.
Lucas sighed heavily, staring blankly ahead.
I handpicked my people for their exceptional skills—so why the hell do they all turn out like this?
A new wave of exhaustion settled in.
* * *
Time had moved quickly, and before she knew it, the day of the mission had arrived.
“…It’s been a while.”
Yoon stood in front of the ruins of her old home, staring at it with an expression she couldn’t quite place.
Nothing remained but charred debris, remnants of a past swallowed by fire.
Maybe it was because she was headed to the harbor today.
Or maybe it was because this place had always been tied to the sea—not literally, but in her memories.
She remembered being trapped here, dreaming of the ocean with Noah.
Back then, the sea was nothing more than an unreachable dream—a place she’d never set foot in, a freedom she couldn’t have.
It had been impossible to leave 5th Avenue without protection.
The girl who once dreamed of the ocean never became a seagull soaring across the waves, but she had become a sentinel, guarding something far bigger than herself.
Her circumstances had changed completely—a thought she found almost amusing.
As she walked slowly around the ruins, lost in old memories, one name resurfaced in her mind.
Noah.
“Here, put it on.”
“What about you?”
“I’m fine. Just put it on.”
“It hurts… Why do we always have to be in pain?”
“Be good. Just hold on a little longer. It’ll be okay soon.”
It’ll all be okay.
“You always said that, didn’t you?”
Her quiet voice dissolved into the empty air, swallowed by the silence.
His words had always been like magic—soothing, unwavering.
Hearing them, even in the worst moments, made her believe that maybe—just maybe—things really would be okay.
He was the one who always patched her up first, the one who comforted her, the one she called family, even if they didn’t share the same blood.
The one with sunlit golden hair and blue eyes that gleamed like gemstones—
The only warmth in her childhood.
“Are you doing well?”
“I’m still here.”
Yoon’s fingers brushed against the charred remains of a tree.
The once-living wood had turned to blackened dust, scattering into the wind.
She stared, transfixed, watching the flecks drift away, disappearing into nothing.
—Why do you look so gloomy?
A boy had once asked that, crouching beside a sullen girl.
—I’m not.
—Really? Are you really not?
His gentle, coaxing voice made the girl grumble as she absently scratched at the dirt with a stick.
Then, after a long pause, she muttered, hesitant.
—Tch. I don’t need a name. Not one from a bastard like him.”\
The boy, realizing why she was so upset, let out a soft chuckle.
—Then… how about I give you one
—…You?
—Yeah. And you give me one too.
“I don’t have a name either.”
He whispered it like a secret.
For a moment, she thought it over—
Then, suddenly, her face lit up.
—Hmm… Okay!
From today on—
“You’re Yoon.”
“You’re Noah!”
A fleeting moment of happiness.
Too brief. Too vivid.
Not long after they had gifted each other names, Noah vanished without a trace.
As if he had never existed at all.
“…Where the hell are you?”
Her voice wavered with unspoken longing.
You were the first to teach me warmth.
Now, you’re the one who’s made me feel this emptiness.
“Noah.”
She had screamed that name for hours, running through every street she could find, her voice going raw.
But time was cruel.
These days, she found it harder and harder to remember his face.
No matter how desperately she tried to picture him, memory itself seemed to mock her, twisting his image until it blurred.
A cold droplet slid down her cheek.
Yoon lifted her head, only to see the sky darken.
The first drops of rain began to fall, steady and cold.
She stared at them for a moment—
Then, suddenly, chuckled.
“Looks like the waves are going to be rough today.”
* * *
The sound of crashing waves and the salty scent of the sea filled the air as a man paused mid-step, his gaze drawn to the endless blue horizon.
For a fleeting moment, he had the strange sensation that someone had called his name.
Even though he knew there was no one who would, he still found himself glancing around, as if expecting to see a familiar face.
“Let’s go to the sea someday.”
A voice—light, cheerful, distant—whispered in his mind like a phantom echo.
A sudden, sharp ache pierced his chest, forcing him to press a hand against it.
His elegant features twisted in pain, brows furrowing.
“…Who are you?”
No matter how hard he tried, the answer remained just out of reach.
It was as if a heavy stone sat upon his chest, pressing down on a truth that refused to surface.
His earliest memory began with the icy waters of the ocean and the concerned voices of an elderly couple waking him up.
They had found him washed ashore, battered and broken from a severe beating, and had nursed him back to health.
The couple, who owned a long-established firearm shop, had taken him in as their own.
They had even given him a new name.
From that day forward—
He became Roel.
His new life was a good one.
Peaceful. Warm.
Yet every night, without fail, he would wake up with tears streaming down his face.
At first, he had felt confused.
Then, he had felt afraid.
Now, it had become routine.
He no longer questioned why he would wake gasping for air, his face damp with tears he didn’t understand.
Wiping the wetness from his cheek, Roel quietly picked up his cup, stepping toward the window.
The ocean’s murmur was ever-present, whispering secrets beneath the moonlight.
His long lashes trembled faintly.
The light of the moon softened his sharp features, casting a glow upon his beautiful, melancholic face.
“Who did I forget?”
Family?
A friend?
A lover?
After his rescue, the elderly couple had searched everywhere for his relatives—yet no one had ever come forward.
No one had claimed him.
And every time he woke up, drenched in those nameless tears, his curiosity about the past only grew.
Why had no one looked for him?
Why had he been left for dead in the ocean?
Why—
But every time he looked into the gentle eyes of the elderly couple, his questions faded.
He couldn’t betray them by digging up a past that no longer mattered.
So, he stopped searching.
Instead, he found a different way to cope.
When the restless nights stretched too long, when the ocean felt endless, when the ache in his chest refused to fade—
He picked up a paintbrush.
His canvases were filled with wistfulness, longing, and an unbearable guilt—
The feeling that he had forgotten something he was never meant to forget.
Perhaps that was why people were drawn to his art.
Under the name “El”, his paintings began to rise in value, selling for increasingly extravagant prices.
But just as he began to make a name for himself, his world crumbled once more.
The elderly couple, his only family, passed away on the same day.
On their deathbed, they had held his hands one last time.
“Thank you, Roel, for being our child.”
“Now, go find yourself. Be at peace.”
Did they already know?
Had they sensed the buried memories he had kept locked away?
With the kindest smiles, they had let go, sending him off with nothing but love.
The deep blue of his eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
And as their wrinkled hands finally went limp, Roel silently sobbed, grieving the only home he had ever known.
“Find yourself.”
The words were meant as encouragement—yet they weighed on him like a burden.
Searching for his lost past was far scarier than facing an uncertain future.
And that fear was what kept his feet rooted in place.
“I’ll just focus on work for now.”
He needed time—time to organize his thoughts, to make a decision.
So, he turned to work.
The elderly couple, having no children of their own, had once intended to pass the shop down to him.
And now, Roel reopened the gun shop, stepping into the role they had prepared for him.
It wasn’t difficult.
He had spent years assisting them, so handling the business felt natural.
That morning, he opened the store as usual, tidying the shelves, ensuring everything was in order.
Then—
The chime of the shop’s bell made him turn his head.
“Welcome—”
Roel greeted the customer with his usual warm smile—
But then, his words caught in his throat.
A man stood before him.
Dressed in black from head to toe—
Black shirt.
Black suit.
Black tie.
Black leather shoes.
A monochromatic figure, exuding an air of absolute authority.
With unwavering steps, the man closed the distance, stopping right in front of Roel.
A faint tremor flickered in Roel’s lashes, reacting instinctively to the intimidating presence.
But within seconds, he composed himself.
“Are you looking for something in particular?”
The man’s deep red-brown eyes swept slowly over the rows of displayed firearms, scanning them with measured interest.
It wasn’t until his gaze settled on one gun that his expression shifted slightly—a faint glimmer of intrigue surfacing in his stare.
The moment he pointed to it, Roel smoothly retrieved the revolver, placing it on the counter with a calm and professional tone.
“This is the Revolver M29. It uses .44 Magnum rounds, meaning its punch and destructive power far exceed that of most handguns. One of its biggest strengths is its durability—you could fire around 75,000 rounds, and it would still hold up.”
The man’s fingers wrapped around the revolver, lifting it with ease.
He tested its weight, checked its mechanisms, and examined its grip.
It sat perfectly in his palm—sturdy, solid.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of Lucas’s lips.
As expected of a long-established gunsmith, the firearms in this shop were of remarkable quality.
This was precisely why he had traveled all the way out here, to a remote port town he would normally never visit.
“So, this is what a gun gift feels like.”
Guns were never something Lucas had thought to gift before.
Organization members only used the firearms provided by the group, so giving someone a personal weapon had never crossed his mind.
Even with Yoon, who often carried herself like she was missing a screw or two, there was never a reason to pay special attention to her firearms.
No matter what weapon she was given, she always got the job done.
He was more used to filling her apartment with necessities rather than things that could be considered gifts.
Even something as simple as a birthday had never mattered.
She didn’t even know her own.
So, he had chosen one for her—the day she first joined the organization.
Even that had been his decision alone.
The first time he had asked about her birthday, she had simply stared at him, expression blank, and replied:
“I don’t know.”
She had never cared about birthdays, and so, for years, Lucas had kept it simple.
But this year, he had different plans.
The problem?
He had no idea what to give her.
“She doesn’t get attached to anything.”
People, objects—nothing ever seemed to hold any meaning for Yoon.
Even if she shattered something she had used for eight years, she would just shrug and replace it with something else.
It was those moments—the ones where she seemed to treat everything as disposable—that made Lucas watch her closer.
Especially when she sat there, silently polishing her gun, lost in thought.
In those moments, he felt a bone-deep unease.
Like she might pull the trigger on herself at any moment.
At some point, she had started coming home with wounds—
Not from missions.
From where, then?
When Lucas finally put the pieces together, he had buried his face in his hands.
His fingers had trembled, though he hadn’t been sure why.
From that day on, he made it a habit to check her body for wounds.
And when he realized that she never strayed during missions, he began to push her harder—
Demanding more missions, forcing her to stay occupied, never giving her a moment to think.
She endured it all, until one day, she snapped—
Storming into his office and grabbing him by the collar.
And that was how Lucas silenced his own fears.
Now, after all these years, he could count only two things that ever seemed to truly interest her:
Alcohol and guns.
“I can’t let her drown in alcohol, so…”
That left only one option.
It made him uneasy—but at the end of the day, she was going to be holding a gun for the rest of her life.
As long as he kept watching over her, that would be enough.
And so, he finally made his choice.
Rather than ordering from the organization’s weapons supplier, he wanted something personal—something Yoon wouldn’t just discard like any other tool.
A sniper rifle or a combat gun?
Thinking about the constant attacks she’d been facing, he settled on something practical for close combat.
“This one.”
Lucas finalized his decision—the Revolver M29.
He filled out the purchase documents and passed them to Roel, the shop’s owner.
Roel reviewed the paperwork before sending it off to NICS for approval.
Then, Lucas added,
“Can you engrave something on it?”
“It’s possible, but it’ll take some time. Should I engrave the name on the paperwork?”
“Yes. Use this name.”
Lucas wrote down Yoon’s name and handed the paper back.
Roel accepted it, his gaze flickering over the name.
Yoon.
It wasn’t a common name, yet something about it felt…
Familiar.
“…Yoon.”
The name escaped his lips before he even realized it.
Lucas’s eyes narrowed slightly, catching the reaction.
“Is something wrong?”
Roel quickly regained his composure, offering a polite smile.
“No, nothing at all. I’ll set a date for pickup—please return then.”
Lucas gave a curt nod and exited the shop.
Now alone, Roel stood still, staring at the name.
“Yoon.”
It felt… strangely familiar.
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