It's 11:14 PM, an unremarkable moment for most people—except for those who know of a movie sharing the same name.
But for me, this is a critical juncture.
Because right now, I’m crouched in a corner with my hands raised, staring down a knife-wielding robber.
If this had happened a week ago, I’d probably be trembling in fear… but at this moment, even though the guy looks far more muscular than me and I’m just a tech nerd whose combat skills barely rate a 5, my heart is barely fazed.
It’s like the faintest ripple on a still pond when a dragonfly briefly alights.
Of course, this isn’t because I’ve gained superpowers or taken a detour to another world. It’s because… just last week, I had a pointing a gun at my head, threatening me to develop software for their organization.
I’d always suspected the project I was assisting my former boss with was shady, but I never imagined I’d be too slow to escape—and worse, get targeted by a terrorist group.
And now, of all times, where’s the organization member who was supposed to be surveilling me? What about this apartment’s security?!
For a moment, I don’t know whether to be relieved that the organization at least has some boundaries—like not spying on my private life—or furious that they’re apparently understaffed.
As for the robber’s motive…
"Hand over everything valuable in this place," he growls in a low voice.
…Well, that’s a problem. The most valuable thing I own is my brain, and I can’t exactly hand that over.
I know better than to resist someone who could easily take me down three times over, so I force out a shaky reply, "B-but I don’t have any money…"
He scowls, clearly not buying it. "Bullshit! You just dropped a million on some worthless card!"
I fall silent, realizing why this guy—who looks like he’d fit right into a gangster movie—targeted me despite my thrifty wardrobe and modest apartment.
A week ago, after the terrorist ordeal left me feeling like money was meaningless anyway, I blew nearly my entire savings—a million—on an eBay auction for a rare "Blue-Eyes White Dragon" card.
Seriously, eBay’s privacy policy is that bad? Or was this guy a delivery worker who’d been staking me out? Now that I think about it… his build does look vaguely familiar…
Not wanting to provoke him, I answer honestly, "But my savings were only a little over a million, and 90% of it went to that card. It’s not worthless—it’s a Blue-Eyes White Dragon. You know, from Yu-Gi-Oh? It’s one of the most valuable cards. If you really want it, I can give it to you?"
"…" The robber goes quiet.
I can’t tell if he’s skeptical or just mentally cursing all nerds as .
"I don’t want your stupid card," he snaps. "That thing’s traceable. The second you report this, I’d get caught trying to sell it."
Wow… who knew robbers could be so logical? He’s got a point.
I exhale slightly—I was pretty attached to that Blue-Eyes.
But he’s not done. He waves the knife, forcing me toward other rooms, clearly planning to ransack the place for overlooked valuables.
Panic surges again—No! My merch! My figurines! My pristine, fingerprint-free collectibles!
My hesitation seems to give him the wrong idea. Mistaking it for hiding something good, he growls, "Don’t try anything funny!"
As he steps closer, knife raised—probably to grab me as a hostage—I’m desperately brainstorming how to explain the cultural and monetary worth of plastic anime girls.
Then I notice a tiny red dot land on his hand.
I blink, slow to process, but before it fully registers, the robber howls in pain. Blood wells from his palm, and the knife clatters to the floor.
Clutching his wrist, he crumples into a whimpering heap.
The shock delays my reaction. I turn mechanically toward the open window—At least I left it open for air. Saves me the trouble of replacing broken glass tomorrow.
Then it hits me. My blood runs cold—Wait. This means a sniper’s watching my apartment.
I stand frozen for several seconds before my brain reboots. Get out. Now.
The robber’s the least of my worries. It’s not like I shot him, and even if the police show up, I’m not responsible. Plus, he’s in no shape to attack anyone.
I bolt for the door, snatching my dropped bag on the way, and stumble into the hallway, gasping.
Then it dawns on me—This isn’t safe either!
I sprint to the elevator, jamming the button repeatedly like it’ll make the damn thing faster.
When it finally dings at the 7th floor, I exhale—until the doors open, revealing a figure stepping out. My breath catches. I freeze.
He’s taller than me by half a head, wearing a cap pulled low, but since I’m looking up, I can still make out his face.
This black-haired guy isn’t as intimidating as the long-haired, gun-toting man from before. If anything, he seems almost mild-mannered—maybe because of his cat-like eyes.
I’m bad at judging ages, but he looks around mine. The stubble suggests he’s older, but who knows? Facial hair can be deceiving.
I know I should avert my gaze, but fear has me locked in place, unsure what to do.
Because… he’s carrying a guitar case.
Between "a guitar-carrying artsy guy coming home late" and "a sniper using a guitar case to conceal a rifle," I didn’t need to think hard to guess which one was the correct answer.
When he saw me, his reaction was indifferent, his tone calm as he remarked, "Waiting for an elevator is a poor decision when fleeing danger."
His voice was unexpectedly pleasant—warm and smooth, reminiscent of a voice actor I particularly liked. But at that moment, I was in no state to appreciate it. My entire body had gone numb with fear.
Instinctively, I took a step back, clutching my bag tighter. When I met his gaze and saw his frown, panic surged through me. My eyes blinked rapidly before tears suddenly spilled over.
He seemed momentarily taken aback, stepping forward as he called out, "Miss Asahina? Are you alright?"
That single address shattered the last shred of hope I’d been clinging to.
Under what circumstances would a sniper allow his target to see his face? I might have never encountered a real sniper before, but I wasn’t completely ignorant.
The realization of what was about to happen hit me hard. I tried to hold back, but failed—bursting into loud, unrestrained sobs.
