"Master, she escaped." Cole reported.
Royce didn't look up. The pages of the book in his hands turned slowly, deliberately, as though nothing of importance had occurred.
"Leave her be. Just keep an eye on her." He said calmly.
"On it." Cole replied with a nod.
He then turned on his heel and exited the study, the door clicking shut behind him.
Silence returned again.
Royce did not move. His eyes seem focused on the book page yet the page had not been turned over.
'She should not have come.' He thought to himself.
He set the book down on the table, leaned back on his chair and stared the the white ceiling.
Things will be chaotic again. He sighed.
But she could not be stopped.
'After all, she is Red.' He murmured, lost in deep thought.
____________________________
Back to the Tang Mansion.
A figure climbed back in through the balcony.
Lina checked the door. Still locked from inside. An indication, no one checked in yet. She felt relieved.
The least thing she wanted was to be caught red-handed by the Tang's.
She stepped into the shower, letting the cold water run over her skin, washing away all the traces of blood from last night. She peeled away the bandage from her arm.
No sight of the cut. The wound had healed already as if there was no wound at all.
The only gift she acquired after passing over in this world.
Healing!
Her fingers brushed over the smooth skin, still unable to shake the strangeness.
She changed into a fresh set of clothes—Lina Tang's style, soft pastels and delicate lace, far from her usual preference.
Standing before the mirror, she took a steady breath, adjusting her features - loosening the tension in her jaw, softening the sharpness in her gaze, adding just the right amount of uncertainty to her expression.
The strong assassin faded away, and in her place stood Lina Tang once again—clumsy, harmless, and perfectly forgettable.
With one last look, she tilted her head and smiled faintly.
Innocence restored. Disguise complete.
At that moment, a knock sounded at the door.
Lina quickly left the bathroom, sat in front of the dressing table, picked up a makeup brush and brought it to her cheek, dabbing lightly as if she'd been at it for a while.
"Come in," she said, her tone light and breezy.
The door creaked open.
"Young Miss, breakfast is ready," the maid said politely, bowing her head slightly as she stepped inside.
Lina smiled, setting the brush down with practiced grace. "Thank you. I'll be down in a minute."
The maid nodded and quietly exited, leaving Lina alone once more.
Everyone in the household was used to her waking up late and taking her time. So, nothing about today raised any suspicion.
Lina took a moment to check her reflection again—hair neat, expression perfectly naive —then grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and headed downstairs.
After a quick, quiet breakfast, she slipped out of the house and into the waiting car.
She had already missed her first two classes, but that wasn't anything out of the ordinary. For Lina Tang, being late was almost expected—part of her carefree, slightly spoiled persona. No one questioned it anymore.
She arrived at the university campus just as the third period was starting in the department.
"Isn't that Lina Tang?"
"She skipped again. Third time this week."
"She probably doesn't care. Her family can buy her grades."
The students whispered along the hallway.
She heard it all.
Lina smiled faintly, her expression soft, harmless, and perfectly nonchalant—like none of it touched her.
She was infamous on campus. Always late. Never answering questions. The kind of heiress who took everything for granted even the study.
She did not stop walking neither she slowed down. Her steps softer than a swan as she walked into the class and slipped into the last row.
Shortly after, the professor walked into the room, prompting everyone to shift their attention to the front.
"Today, we'll be discussing a recent case. I'm sure most of you have seen it in the news. Over the past year, there have been a series of strange murders—no clear motive, no signs of theft or personal vendetta. The only clue left behind at each scene is a single word: 'Red.' With some assistance from the police, I've managed to gather limited data on the matter, and I expect all of you to study it carefully."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Students exchanged uneasy glances, some shifting in their seats. Even those who usually dozed off during lectures sat upright now, intrigued by the real-world weight of the topic.
Lina, however, didn't move.
Her eyes remained fixed on the professor, her face a perfect mask of curiosity. But inside, her pulse had stilled.
Red.
The word echoed in her mind like a shot in the dark.
She'd known this name would surface eventually. After all, that was the motive.
The professor clicked on the projector. Images appeared on the screen—blurred street camera shots, silhouettes, grainy frames of bodies lying untouched except for a single red mark scrawled on walls, tables, or mirrors. Each image was tagged with dates, locations, and the infamous signature: 'Red'.
"As you can see," the professor continued, pacing slowly in front of the screen, "the murders are clean. Precise. Almost surgical. The targets are random—at least on the surface. No clear pattern in gender, age, occupation, or region."
The murmurs in the class resumed—nervous, hushed. A few students took rapid notes; others just stared at the screen, shaken.
The professor went on, showing a blurry still from a security camera: a slender figure leaping from a building, a hint of crimson fabric fluttering behind them. "This," he said, tapping the screen, "was the latest sighting—just a month ago. Near the southwest military border."
Lina blinked. That had been close. Too close.
"Authorities believe this is no ordinary serial killer," the professor said, lowering his voice. "They believe this is an organized, top-level covert operation. Possibly even state-sponsored. But that's beyond what we can verify here."
He paused.
"I want you all to write a paper analyzing one possible motive behind these attacks, supported by existing public data and theories."
A few students groaned. A couple of others whispered in awe.
Lina simply smiled again, calm and mild.
But inside, she thought: If they knew the truth, they wouldn't be writing papers.
They'd be praying.
The professor continued, listing off other cases with similar patterns—unsolved murders, unexplained disappearances, strange clues—but Lina heard none of it.
Her thoughts had drifted far from the lecture hall.
The name 'Red' must be exposed—not revealed as me, she reminded herself, fists clenching under the desk.
She had been reckless. Too close.
This body... She looked down at her hands. Elegant, delicate—weak. It wasn't built for the life she once lived.
I thought a year would be enough... But her near-capture this morning had proven otherwise. She needed more time. More strength. More control.
And yet… a pair of eyes kept flashing in her memory. She had seen them before but not in this life.
Cold, unreadable, yet strangely familiar. The man from earlier.
'Can it be him? But that's impossible.'