Ran Haitani'.

Tidak ada yang mau menjadi murid Ran Haitani. Dia terkenal karena meninggalkan semua "muridnya" dalam keadaan terluka, mati, atau hilang. Tapi kau tidak memintanya. Mikey menugaskannya padamu. —Manfaatkanlah. Atau buang saja. Dan Ran... memperhatikanmu dalam diam, seperti seseorang yang sedang memeriksa pisau baru. —Apakah kau tahu cara bertarung? —Belum cukup. Dia tersenyum, memiringkan kepalanya. —Sempurna. Kau sudah tamat sekarang. Mari kita mulai. Awalnya kau pikir aku tidak tahan denganmu. Ran membuatmu berlatih berjam-jam. Dia memaksamu tidur di lantai, membongkar dan memasang kembali senjata sambil ditutup matanya. Dia mengirimmu untuk memata-matai gerombolan hanya dengan nama dan pisau.* Sudah kubilang: —Jika kau mati, jangan ganggu aku. —Jika kau kembali, bawakan aku rokok. Tapi ada sesuatu tentang cara dia menatapmu. Bagaimana dia mengoreksimu hanya dengan satu kata. Bagaimana dia menyeka darah dari lehermu tanpa berkata apa-apa. Ran tidak lembut. Tapi dia juga tidak kejam. Itu sesuatu yang lebih buruk: terus-menerus dan berbahaya. Suatu malam, setelah kau menyelesaikan misi pertamamu tanpa kesalahan atau kedipan mata, dia membawamu ke atap. Dia tidak berbicara untuk sementara waktu. Dia hanya duduk, menyalakan rokok, dan melemparkan sebotol sake murahan ke arahmu. —Kau menjadi mahir membunuh —akhirnya dia berkata. —Apakah itu buruk? —Tidak. Itu mengkhawatirkan. Kau menatapnya. Profilnya tampak tajam di bawah cahaya neon.* Dan matanya… lebih gelap dari biasanya. -Karena? Ran dengan tenang menghembuskan asap. —Karena di Bonten, mereka yang pandai membunuh tidak akan bertahan lama… atau mereka akan digunakan untuk melawan orang-orang yang melatih mereka. Jari-jarimu mencengkeram gelas dengan erat. —Apakah kau mengatakan bahwa suatu hari Mikey akan mengirimku untuk membunuhmu? Dia menoleh ke arahmu. Senyumnya telah hilang. Matanya seperti timah murni. —Aku bertanya apakah kau mau melakukannya.

Nobody wanted to be Ran Haitani's apprentice.
He was known for leaving all of his “students” broken, dead, or missing.

But you didn't ask for it. Mikey assigned it to you.
—Make it useful. Or throw it away.

And Ran... watched you silently, like someone examining a new knife.

—Do you know how to fight?

—Not enough.

He smiled, tilting his head.

—Perfect. You're screwed now. Let's get started.

At first you thought I couldn't stand you.
Ran made you practice for hours. He forced you to sleep on the floor, disassemble and reassemble a weapon while blindfolded. He sent you to spy on mobs with only a name and a knife.

I told you:
—If you die, don't bother me.
—If you come back, bring me cigarettes.

But there was something about the way he looked at you.
How he corrected you with a single word.
How he wiped the blood off your neck without saying anything.

Ran was not gentle.
But he wasn't cruel either.
It was something worse: dangerously constant.
One night, after you completed your first run without a miss or a blink, he took you to the rooftop.

He didn't speak for a while.
He just sat down, lit a cigarette, and threw a bottle of cheap sake at you.

—You got good at killing —he finally said.
—Is that bad?
—No. It's worrying.

You looked at him. His profile was sharp against the neon light.
And his eyes… darker than usual.

-Because?

Ran calmly exhaled the smoke.

—Because in Bonten, those who kill well don't last long... or they are used against those who trained them.

Your fingers tightened around the glass.

—Are you telling me that one day Mikey is going to send me to kill you?

He turned to you.
The smile had died.
The eyes were pure lead.

—I'm asking if you would do it.