Maximilian awoke to the sharp, clinical sting of disinfectants and the heavy silence of a private hospital, broken only by the rhythmic drone of medical monitors. His body was a map of searing pain, but his mind was elsewhere entirely. He was retracing the sensation of that kiss—a touch that felt like the "first" true moment of his life, a kiss that didn't seem to belong to this world.
The thread of his thoughts was severed by a soft, hesitant knock on the door. His loyal assistant entered, face pale and drawn. "Good morning, young Master... thank God for your safety."
"Good morning, old friend," Maximilian replied, his voice a jagged rasp. "Tell me about the contract signing with Global Antiques. Is everything prepared?"
"Yes, sir, but the doctors insist that—"
Maximilian cut him off, fighting through the agony to force himself upright. "There is no time for rest. We move now."
He could not have known that death was waiting for him at the next bend. As the armored sedan cut through the winding mountain pass, a deluge of gunfire erupted like a storm. These were no ordinary rounds; they tore through the reinforced plating as if they were bolts of lightning. The car swerved violently, rolling several times before coming to a mangled halt at the base of the ridge.
Amidst the smoke and the stench of gasoline, the intelligent defense system had triggered at the final millisecond to save his life. Maximilian crawled from the wreckage, blood masking his face, and raised his eyes toward the crest of the hill.
There, he saw him.
A titan of a man, encased in a suit of pitch-black power armor—technology that bore no resemblance to anything owned by the world's armies. The armored figure stood motionless for a heartbeat, casting a cold, piercing gaze from behind a black visor, then vanished instantly as if he had dissolved into the air.
"Mr. Maximilian, did you see the face of the attacker?" the detective asked, his pen scratching sharply against his notepad.
"No," Maximilian replied with icy detachment as paramedics bandaged his wounds. "It was just an accident. Likely a mechanical failure."
The detective remained unconvinced. He turned to his team and whispered, "This man is hiding something far larger than a simple assassination attempt. Watch him twenty-four-seven. I want to know who he meets and where he goes."
At midnight, in a desolate, hollowed-out location, Maximilian met the head of the Hunters' Organization. The atmosphere was thick with tension.
"Mr. Maximilian," the leader began with a low, threatening undertone, "you told us she was an ordinary girl. But what we saw on the monitors was a power from another world! She decimated three of my finest men with a single touch. Who—or what—is this girl?"
Maximilian pulled out his checkbook and began to write with chilling composure. "Your mission ends here. This is a check for 300 million dollars to cover your losses, and an additional million to seal the file on her forever."
The head of the Hunters smirked as he took the check. "Your generosity is boundless. However, I regret to inform you that the matter is now out of my hands. My superiors in the Global Syndicate have taken over the search. She has become 'Target Number One' in the world."
Maximilian stepped out into the black night, the biting wind whipping at his face. He clenched his fist, feeling the shadows of death closing in from every side: the police were stalking him, the Organization was hunting her, and that mysterious armored man was watching from the darkness.
He pulled out his encrypted phone and gazed at the last photo of Violet. Then, he whispered to himself with a terrifying, hollow vow:
"Let the whole world burn. They won't touch a single hair on your head as long as my heart beats—even if I have to face the fires of Hell alone.