Inside a private bedroom at the Monteriel branch building in Mexico, Kenzii stood frozen, staring at his reflection in the mirror.
His hands are trembling. There was no visible blood left on his skin, yet he could still feel the phantom stain of it, clinging to him like a foul residue.
He wanted to feel rage at himself for the merciless slaughter he had just committed—he wanted to scream, to lash out, to hurl something across the room. But he couldn't summon a single drop of emotion. It was as if his feelings had been buried deep within an inaccessible vault inside his chest.
Anger raged silently in his heart, yet his expression remained entirely blank. He felt the overwhelming urge to lose control, but he lacked the strength to shatter his own numb composure.
What is happening to me?
He tried to force a tear to spill from his eyes, but nothing came.
The devil living within his left hand was slowly taking the reins. He remained fully aware of every action he took, yet a detached part of his inner mind seemed to crave the violence, deriving a dark satisfaction from it. But deep down, he knew this wasn't who he wanted to be.
He turned a lifeless gaze toward the open attache cases resting on his bed. The massive bars of gold and scattered raw small diamonds gleamed brilliantly under the room's lights, but to his hollow eyes, they were nothing more than shiny rocks. He felt nothing for them.
A full day had passed since the massacre, yet the emotional numbness persisted.
Later that afternoon, he was scheduled to fly back to the Philippines alongside his cousin's personnel using the company plane. But he felt a profound dread at the thought of facing Sota and Alas after what had happened that night.
They had witnessed through the chest cam the exact monster he had become. Would they still accept him? Or would they—just like the rest of their fractured family—come to despise and fear him?
.
"Cuz! You actually pulled it off, just like you promised!"
Alas greeted him enthusiastically the moment he arrived, throwing a heavy arm over Kenzii's shoulders.
Kenzii had just arrived at the location Sota had sent him, where both of his cousins were waiting.
The property was perched high in a secluded mountain range, sprawling and heavily fortified. Armed guards lined the private access road the moment his transport car that Sota arrange crossed the perimeter gate. It was clearly one of their grandfather's off-the-grid private estates.
Sota signaled two discreet guards to retrieve the attache cases Kenzii was carrying before leading the group into a grand, ancestral estate made of heavy dark timber and stone.
Kenzii merely stared at Alas, his face devoid of any expression but in his head he was thinking what his cousin was talking about.
"You came back without a single scratch!" Alas grinned broadly, completely oblivious to—or unfazed by—Kenzii's inner turmoil.
Kenzii's brow furrowed slightly. Why? he thought to himself. After everything they saw me do through that feed... why are they acting like it was just a normal day?
"Unlike you, he actually keeps his word," Sota cut in coldly, tapping away at his smartphone before sliding it into his jacket pocket. "By the way, Grandpa is already waiting in the study."
Kenzii offered a mute nod, he had zero interest in anything.
As they walked through the estate, Kenzii took in his surroundings. While the exterior resembled a centuries-old Spanish colonial mansion, the interior had been completely gutted and remodeled into a sleek, state of the art modern residence.
There were no visible guards posted inside, though outside was crawling with them.
Noticing Kenzii scanning the hallways, Sota offered a subtle explanation.
"This is grandfather's off-book retreat," Sota said quietly. "This is where he conducts high-stakes operations he doesn't want the rest of the family tracking. Not even his siblings know this place exists."
Kenzii offered a small nod, keeping his silence.
"He's upstairs," Sota added when Kenzii didn't press further.
Reaching the upper floor, Sota pushed open a heavy double door at the end of the grand hallway. Inside lay a massive private study, dominated by a floor-to-ceiling glass wall that overlooked a sweeping panorama of the mountain forest below.
Don Hidalgo sat in a leather swivel chair facing the view. Standing beside him was his long-time personal secretary, who served him for decades.
"Don Hidalgo, they have arrived," the secretary announced softly.
Don Hidalgo rotated his chair to face his grandsons.
The Don gave a subtle nod, prompting Sota and Alas to step forward and lay the two attache cases onto the broad mahogany desk, flipping the latches open.
The secretary's eyes widened in shock at the sight of stacked gold bullion, dozens of cut diamonds, and one exceptionally rare, oversized raw gemstone. Kenzii stepped forward and laid the seized cartel documents alongside the treasure.
"Outstanding work, Kenzii," Don Hidalgo purred, a dark smirk forming on his weathered face as he looked up at his grandsons. "With this capital, we have secured absolute leverage over the whole corporate."
"Won't they raise questions?" Kenzii asked flatly. "They know that—"
He was cut off by the unexpected sound of his grandfather chuckling—a low, satisfied rumble.
Kenzii glanced at his cousins; both Sota and Alas were smirking, and even his grandfather's secretary wore a subtle, knowing smile.
"Do not trouble yourself with that," Don Hidalgo replied with the air of a strategist who had already won the board game. "They will never link it to us. When you get back to your condo, check the global news feeds."
Even though he didn't quite get it, Kenzii gave a slow nod.
"We weren't just sitting around doing nothing while you were fighting in Mexico, cuz," Alas butted in, raising his left hand and curling it into a mock fist with a mischievous grin. "I had my own role to play."
"Discuss the details back at Kenzii's unit," Don Hidalgo interrupted, waving a hand in dismissal.
His grandfather turned his gaze back to the glowing gold, his eyes gleaming with cold greed.
Kenzii internally rolled his eyes. If he didn't need the old man for his own hidden motives, he would never dance to Don Hidalgo's tune.
"Understood, grandfather. We'll take our leave," Sota said, bowing his head respectfully before turning to leave.
Upon returning to his high-rise condo unit, Kenzii couldn't shake the confusion gnawing at his mind. He pulled out his phone, eager to see what Don Hidalgo had meant.
He sat down on the long sofa and began browsing the global feeds.
"Don't bother using your phone, I got it ready." Alas interrupted, stepping over and dropping a laptop onto the glass coffee table in front of him. "Read it carefully."
The screen displayed a prominent global news outlet article:
[GLOBAL CRIME NEWS]
Prominent Businessman Santiago Garza Found Dead Following Factory Fire; Identified as Cartel Kingpin
MEXICO CITY — Mexican enterprise figure Santiago Garza was discovered dead behind his burning manufacturing facility late last night. Subsequent federal investigations revealed the tire plant served as a front for a massive subterranean narcotics laboratory. Over thirty death have been confirmed on-site.
The perpetrator remains unidentified. However, forensic pathology reports confirm Garza's cause of death was precise, violent cardiac extraction—a signature technique directly linking the assassination to the infamous international vigilante known as the "Soul Collector."
In a startling development, an identical incident occurred in Indonesia less than twelve hours prior, where a 34-year-old high-profile executive was similarly killed via cardiac extraction. The Indonesian hit has been officially claimed by the "Soul Collector" through an encrypted manifest published online—which was the killer's famous way of exposing his target's crime.
Law enforcement agencies are facing an impossible paradox: How could the same assassin execute two high-profile targets via the exact same gruesome method across a distance of over 16,800 kilometers within a 18-hour window?
Interpol and the International Criminal Police Organization (ICPO) task forces handling the Soul Collector dossier have declined to comment on the ongoing investigation.
Kenzii's eyes widened in disbelief as he finished reading the article. He looked up at Alas, who was standing there with a smug, self-satisfied grin. Sota walked into the living room holding two mugs of fresh coffee, a rare proud expression on his face.
"Here, drink up," Sota said, handing one of the mugs to Kenzii.
"Hey, what the hell? Where's mine?" Alas whined, pointing at the two mugs. "Why did you only make enough for you two?"
"It's still in the kitchen. Get off your ass and fetch it yourself," Sota teased with a short laugh.
"You petty asshole—"
Alas made a move toward the kitchen, but Kenzii reached out, slamming the laptop lid down with a sudden, heavy thud that echoed through the room.
His gaze locked onto Alas—a look demanding an immediate explanation.
"What is the meaning of this?" Kenzii demanded, his brows drawn together in a sharp glare.
The cold numbness that had suffocated him for the past two days cracked open, replaced by a surge of raw, volatile fury.
"What do you mean, cuz?" Alas replied casually, stepping back. "I did the job. I replicated your signature hit down to the exact detail. Granted, the chest cavity tears I made on my target were slightly wider than your original surgical work, but for a cover-up, it was pretty damn convincing—"
"Why the hell did you do that?!" Kenzii roared, jumping to his feet, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white.
His raised voice vibrated through the living room.
"Do you want to become a monster like me?! I'm supposed to be the only killer here! What the hell were you thinking taking a life, Alas?!"
He glared at his cousin, his heart twisting in agony. He could bear his own damnation, but he could never accept watching the cousin he loved step into the exact same abyss.