In this country, an "assassin" is not a cowardly criminal lurking in the shadows, but a law enforcer walking in the sunlight. This is an era where order is maintained through execution. Anyone who passes the official examination can become a legitimate "executioner." The government established the "Assassin Management Bureau," strictly regulating every blade of judgment—assassins strike only the guilty. In the eyes of the public, they are the last line of justice, both mysterious and awe-inspiring.
At dawn, sunlight pierced through the thin mist, illuminating the towering steel gates of the "National Assassin Training Academy." The high walls were lined with infrared sensors and automated defense guns, exuding the cold, lethal aura of a military base.
Girl A stood at the gate, tightening the straps of her backpack. Her heart pounded—not from fear, but from excitement. "Finally…" she thought, staring at the cold metal plaque of the academy, imagining those cinematic figures in tailored suits, elegantly eliminating targets amid a hail of bullets.
"Are you here for the interview too?"
A gentle, lazy voice interrupted her daydream. She turned to see an older, casually poised girl, B, standing by the gate. Dressed simply, B looked completely harmless, like any ordinary college student.
A froze for a moment, then smiled, happy to find a companion. "Yes! I barely passed the written exam."
B smiled faintly and casually asked, "Why do you want to be an assassin?"
The question hit A's heart like a bomb. She straightened her chest, eyes sparkling. "Because it's cool! I've seen so many movies where they calmly eliminate their targets with such mystery and elegance—it's amazing! I want to be like that!"
B's smile didn't change, but the amusement in her eyes vanished in an instant, replaced by a subtle, icy coldness. She said nothing, only gave a soft, "Hm."
The two walked side by side into the campus, passing the central garden on the way to the waiting room. Suddenly, a black cat with shiny fur emerged from the bushes. Unafraid, it walked straight to A and rubbed against her leg affectionately.
"Ugh!"
A recoiled as if shocked, frowning and nudging the cat gently with her shoe. She instinctively covered her nose, muttering with slight disgust, "Go… away. I don't really like cats…"
B stopped walking. She looked at the pushed-away cat, then at A's face of rejection. In her usually calm eyes, a complex glint appeared—like hatred toward an enemy, and a flash of lethal intent triggered by a touch to her reverse scales.
"…Is that so." B's voice was like the wind. "I'll go ahead, see you at the exam."
Before A could respond, B turned and walked away, and the black cat surprisingly followed.
The waiting room felt suffocatingly tense.
Finally, A's number was called. She took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy door of the interview room.
The room was blindingly bright. Three interviewers sat behind a long table, with the chief examiner in the middle—
A froze mid-step.
It was the same girl she had met at the gate, B.
Now wearing a dark uniform jacket, B's aura was entirely different. The casual laziness was gone, replaced by an intimidating, cold presence. In her arms was the black cat A had pushed away.
B gently stroked the cat's back and looked at A with a faint glance. "So, you're here."
A's mind went blank as she mechanically sat down and straightened her back, ready to speak. "G-Greetings, examiners. My name is—"
"No need." B cut her off coldly. "You've already failed. Leave."
The words hit A like a hammer. She froze for a few seconds, stammering, "W-What? I… I haven't even introduced myself… I haven't answered a single question…"
"The interview began the moment you stepped onto the campus."
B finally looked at her directly, her eyes like those of a corpse slowly cooling. "I won't admit you for three reasons."
B raised her first long finger. "First, zero vigilance. As a trainee assassin, you were completely open when a stranger spoke to you. If I were an assassination target, you would have been dead ten times over at the gate."
A opened her mouth, unable to reply.
B raised her second finger, her tone even sterner. "Second, immature motivation. You said being an assassin is 'cool'? Do you think this is a movie? The world of assassins is all killing and being killed, spattered with blood and endless guilt. Coming in with such a half-baked mindset, you're not chasing a dream—you're committing suicide."
Each word was like a sharp blade, piercing A's fantasy. Her face paled, and she lowered her head.
"And the third point…"
B's voice slowed. She looked down at the black cat in her arms. The murderous intent in her eyes vanished, replaced by an extremely gentle expression. "…And this is the decisive one. You pushed this little one away and said, 'I don't like cats.' My cat, how cute she is, and you disliked her? That alone is enough to fail you."
A's eyes widened, shocked, "Wait! I have no problem with the first two, but this is ridiculous! That's just personal preference. How does it matter for being an assassin?"
"It does matter. And it matters a lot."
B's expression darkened instantly. She leaned forward, hands on the table, shadow falling over A. "The Bureau's psychological profiling shows that people who reject weak, friendly cats lack 'empathy and compassion.' Such people, once given power, are highly likely to abuse it. This isn't a preference; it's a 'character flaw.'"
A panicked, sweating, shouted, "You misunderstand! I don't have a character flaw! I pushed her away because I'm allergic!"
Pointing at her already reddening nose, she cried out, "I sneeze and tear up uncontrollably when I touch cat fur. It's physically impossible for me to be near them, not that I dislike them! Does this really mean I get eliminated?"
A looked at B with hope, thinking the misunderstanding was finally cleared.
Yet B's gaze didn't soften; it grew even more pitying—like looking at a terminally ill patient beyond help. "Allergic? …Then that's even worse."
A froze. "Eh? Why?"
B naturally raised the black cat in her arms. "Because this little one is my 'power source.'"
A: "…Huh? That's a cat, right?"
Ignoring A's confusion, B buried her face in the cat's belly and inhaled deeply. "Sniff—!"
A few seconds later, B raised her head sharply. Her pupils contracted, eyes razor-sharp, radiating a terrifying killing intent, like a freshly unsheathed cursed blade. "…Fully charged." B's voice was low, magnetic, as if injected with some potent enhancement.
A was stunned. "…What just happened?"
B returned to her serious expression and pointed at the cat. "This is called 'tactical mental dependency.' Without sufficient 'cat energy,' I cannot maintain high-intensity assassin focus. In my classes, training, even during assassinations, she is my constant energy supply."
B's gaze locked on A. "With your sneezing and allergy, you couldn't keep up with classes or missions."
She waved her hand arrogantly. "Not loving cats in your heart, I could maybe educate you; but being physically repulsed by them… that's an incompatibility. No one can save you."
A wanted to argue, but B's abyss-like eyes froze her, making her tremble, feeling as if she might be killed at any second. Like a rabbit before a lion, she panicked and fled the interview room.
B ignored her and buried her face in the cat's fur again, letting out a satisfied sound. "Alright, next."
As the door closed, the two interviewers on either side exchanged helpless glances. One muttered under his breath, audible only to the other, "Her old habit again… every time, anything involving cats completely overturns the written results." The other sighed and shook his head, "Yeah, even the principal can't handle her. Next one, please. No more allergic cat haters."
(Prologue Complete)