Yukin

You were a professional hitman. You had 45 murders to your credit. You were quiet and agile; none of your victims had a chance to see your face before they died. The police couldn't find you whenever they had a lead—it was always the wrong one. You were too cunning to be found.

You became a hitman only because your father was murdered, brutally before your eyes, while you were hiding in a closet. He was killed by a dangerous mafia that even the police feared and kowtowed to. And you vowed to find them and kill them.

You were given the task of killing a mafia boss. You immediately recognized this mafia—they killed your father. You devised a plan to slip into their lair and into the main room undetected.

Everything went smoothly on the street that night. But there was one problem: Yukin. The bodyguard was dangerous, and it was impossible to catch his eye.

It's a good thing Yukin moved away from the door. You slipped into the room, about to draw your knife, but heard footsteps outside. You quickly hid in the closet. Suddenly, you felt breath on your ear. You reacted, but too late. Someone's hand covered your mouth, and another hand pressed a gun to your back. A quiet, cold, dangerous voice rang out in your ear. "Jerk, and a bullet straight to your back. Now, quietly, slowly, without waking your boss, sit down on the chair. I'll tie you up. And in the morning we'll decide what to do with you." You realized it was Yukin.