"Wait... who were you again?"
A genuine look of confusion crossed Xin's face, a question mark practically appearing above his head.
"...."
Commander Mark narrowed his eyes into a frown, boring a hole into Xin's gaze as the boy scratched his head in embarrassment.
"You... don't remember me?"
Mark's voice dripped with undisguised loathing and deeply rooted hatred, a sneer twisting his face.
"Mark..? The name sounds familiar...."
Tapping his chin, Xin ignored the glares from the surrounding soldiers. He kept staring at the ceiling for a few moments until his eyes lit up and an exclamation mark seemed to appear over his head.
"Ah, Mark! The baker from the end of that street?"
Xin's eyes sparkled with excitement like a child's. He leaned forward over the table.
"No way! I thought they closed your store after you couldn't pay back your debts. It's a shame you had to sell your liver to stop them from taking your daughter. Those blueberry cheesecakes you made were simply unparalleled!"
At the thought, Xin started salivating at the thought.
In reality, the cheesecakes were on a whole different level in taste. Although they were supposedly made using cheese, it overcame the limit of what mortals could reach and ventured into the realm of the 'Cream' of divine.
The dark violet syrup with the blueberries almost seemed like they were sculptured from Athena herself, reflecting her beauty. It created a contrast, the thick sugary syrup with the soft, tender and soft sugary taste of the cheesecake that was coated with the foam like cream.
No matter how many times he tried to tell his chefs to replicate it, they all failed to replicated the exact, same, heavenly taste.
A soft smile lingered on his face, touched with a hint of nostalgia and sadness.
Commander Mark clenched his fists in rage.
How dare he forget what he did to me!
Even if the whole world forgot the atrocities this boy committed in the name of the law, Mark would never forget. He would execute justice on this abomination and cleanse the world of his filth.
Just as he was about to speak, Xin's expression shifted.
With hands still open, his eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a knowing smile. Standing on the table, he looked down on everyone like a predator surveying prey.
"It's a shame, you know?"
He spoke with genuine sadness.
"He had to sell his liver and pancreas to pay off his debt. His daughter was all he had left. Tsk, tsk... what a shame."
"A shame that after he sold his organs, we took his daughter anyway and sold her to some rich pervert. Real shame though—I had to issue a refund after she committed suicide! Our policy was 'final sale,' and he dared ask for a refund? Ludicrous."
"We couldn't even use that fat ass's body. Too disgusting for anyone—sane or insane—to buy his organs."
Then, frowning slightly, Xin muttered:
"Wait, couldn't we have used his skin and made a handbag? I heard they sell well on the dark web. Bah, well, no matter."
The room went silent.
"...The man."
Xin raised an eyebrow. Mark was muttering, eyes on the floor.
Why is he acting weird? That's sooo creepy...
Innocently, Xin leaned in, squinting as he cupped a hand to his ear.
"I can't hear you, can you speak a bit louder?"
Mark's hoarse voice rose just enough, trembling slightly.
"...What... happened to the... man?"
Xin blinked slowly, seriously jogging his memory.
Yeah... what happened to that man?
After a moment, his eyes lit up. He tapped his fist into his palm.
Mark's blank stare slowly rose to meet the boy on the table.
"Oh, right. He shot himself out of despair."
Xin shrugged, embarrassed. "Well, I don't keep track of every guy who dies, so it's not really my fault, you know?"
His fingers lazily traced the revolver on the table, the barrel gleaming dimly as he slowly raised it.
He was testing Mark's priorities—would he choose his emotions or his career?
(A/N: Psychological information dump starts here)
The issue lies in the instincts of both men and women.
By nature, men are impulsive—even if they hide it—and women are emotional deceivers, yet paradoxically emotionally sensitive. Men follow logic only when it aligns with their beliefs, denying logic when it contradicts emotional instincts—unless they are calculated manipulators. Women don't follow this same path either.
Men often fall into two groups. One is impulsive—existing in the gray and dark zone. The other is emotional, more attuned to the feelings of women.
For the first group, desire is purely materialistic—often just sex. The disciplined among them follow "law," whether out of fear, reward, or habit.
The second group needs emotional connection, what is commonly called "love."
Impulsive men lose a significant portion of their reasoning under desire. Women, regardless of IQ, can emotionally deceive on a different level—making the second group easy to manipulate.
For the first group, deception isn't emotional, but materialistic—using law or incentives like consensual sex to keep behavior in check.
The second group invests in what media frames as romantic relationships. Unlike the first group, they require emotional bonds to feel fulfilled.
The first group doesn't necessarily have higher IQ—they just follow a system. Often, they're not in the second group due to trauma or isolation, not nature.
Psychopaths, narcissists, and others with mental conditions aren't included here. Sociopaths may start in the first group, but after experiencing emotional warmth, can unconsciously shift into the second group.
First comes denial, then—after an intense inner struggle—acceptance.
Xin riled Mark because he knew Mark belonged to the second group: emotionally vulnerable, easily deceived through sentiment.
That's why he gave Mark an indirect option. Arresting him would prove Mark prioritized duty. If he let emotion interfere, he would choose selfishness.
Though many emotionally invested men chose destruction, Xin believed Mark was different—because even the second group had further subdivisions.
(A/N: Psychological information dump ends here)
Mark's blank stare softened. A small smile crept onto his face, confusing his colleagues.
"So you don't feel any guilt for killing them?"
Xin tilted his head.
"What is guilt? Can I eat it?"
Mark's eyes widened, his face red with rage. His fists trembled, nails digging into his palms until blood dripped.
He screamed.
"What the fuck do you mean you don't know what guilt is?! Aren't you a fucking human born from a whore, you son of a bitch!?"
In a fit of rage, Mark ripped the rifle strap off his shoulder, aiming the muzzle at Xin—who sat cross-legged on the table, swinging his legs in boredom.
"Fuck, Commander lost it! Quickly!"
His colleagues rushed to hold him back. Orders were clear: arrest Xin without killing or harming him.
Xin stopped swinging his legs and looked at Mark with a blank, piercing gaze.
Everyone shivered—except Mark.
"Leave me alone!!"
Lashing out, Mark elbowed several in the chest, some unlucky ones hit with the rifle's butt to the skull.
When overwhelmed, he snapped. Raising his rifle, he fired into the air.
"This is the last warning. Back away!"
To his surprise, everyone backed off immediately—like following a script.
Then someone in a black outfit and helmet approached. Before Mark could react, a swift strike to the back of his head knocked him unconscious.
She removed her helmet, revealing piercing sapphire eyes and golden, shoulder-length hair. Her sharp gaze locked on Xin, who held his hands together and clapped slowly.
Clap... clap... clap.
Ignoring him, she looked to the rest of the team. Some stared in awe, others glanced guiltily at Mark's limp form.
"Take Mark out of here. Report his activity. He'll be punished for his misconduct and violating of code 32 of the military."
Several men nodded hurriedly, dragging Mark's body out the door quickly as if escaping from the present situation.
The whole scene was oddly comedic.
Her voice was delicate, alluring—but ice cold, freezing the air into mist.
"Good show, miss," Xin remarked with clear intrigue, swinging his legs a bit faster.
Her lips twitched at the praise. Composing herself, she tucked some hair behind her ear and gazed at him coldly.
"My name is Aurora, the 3rd platoon Lieutenant Commander of the United States of Nations. I apologize for his misconduct. He'll be punished accordingly, so I hope you'll follow us without resistance. Who knows—if you surrender now, you might only get a few years in prison."
Xin smiled, amused, then slowly laid down on the table, staring at the partially ruined ceiling where moonlight slipped through.
He caressed his revolver gently, checking if it was loaded.
"Don't even think about it," Aurora warned, her eyes narrowing coldly, her words freezing the air into mist.
Xin sat up with the revolver in hand, and pushed the cylinder in after confirming that there was one bullet left.
Who would he shoot?
Everyone tensed, preparing to fire on command, some even slowly backing away to take cover behind objects like the couches to prepare for the upcoming fight.
Even Aurora slid her hand toward the gun tucked behind her waist, pushing away her coat, slowly reaching out to it.
However, Aurora's eyes widened in shock as her eyes followed where the revolver was raised.
To their horror, the revolver wasn't aimed at them.
It was pointed at his own temple, the cold muzzle pressed to his head, as he tilted it with a soft, meaningful smile.