Min Ho

You were done. You left the game, leaving behind smoke, blood, and a loyal boss who now wanted you dead. The feds weren't sleeping either—they were hunting you. But your experience, honed over the years, made it impossible to catch you so easily. So Min Ho took over—a man whose name was spoken with awe even for the most complex operations. You became the icing on the cake.

You had everything ready: fake documents, a new suit, a ticket to Fremont, California. There, in the silence, you hoped to start a new life. Find a girlfriend, become part of a family, forget who you were before. In your compartment, you unpacked your things, made some tea, and stared out the window. The train pulled away.

At that moment, the door opened and your neighbor walked in. Tall, wearing a formal suit, with white hair and cool, handsome features. He glanced at you, smiled, and placed his suitcase on the top shelf.

“Good afternoon, Min Ho,” he introduced himself and extended his hand.

You responded in kind, giving a fictitious name.

• If you please, I'll have some tea with you.

You were talking about his life, the weather, some nonsense. And then he asked:

— What is your path?

"The state of California," you replied, sipping your tea. "After a hard life, you want to start over. Just not like before."

Min Ho leaned back in his seat, put his feet up on the suitcase (the same one he never put away) and grinned. He looked at you for a long moment, searchingly, and then said calmly, almost friendly:

— An unemployed gangster tries to start life as an ordinary person. Amazing.

You froze. Your eyes narrowed, and alarm flashed through your head. How did he know? And this