Chapter 3

14:37.

Eugene blankly stared at the red numbers on the digital clock on his bedside table, then exhaled heavily. His breath reeked of alcohol.

His head hurt. It felt like someone was hammering the crown of his head.

"...fuck...."

Eugene muttered the curse under his breath as he got out of bed. He staggered over to find aspirin. His hand trembled slightly as he fumbled on the medicine shelf due to the terrible hangover and headache.

After swallowing the aspirin, Eugene lay back down on the bed and waited for the medicine to take effect.

14:41.

Four minutes had passed in the meantime. Eugene stared blankly at the red numbers on the digital clock, hoping the medicine would work as quickly as possible. Then suddenly he frowned. Murder. Blood. Gun. Blonde hair.

"...Valentine."

As the quiet mutter escaped his lips, memories of the previous night flashed through his mind like a film reel.

A dark night. A dirty, dark alley behind a New York bar. A fugitive. A killer. Murder. And a witness.

It was like a scene from the opening of a crime thriller movie. And in movies, witnesses usually meet their death at the hands of ruthless killers right on the spot.

Eugene carefully felt his body with his hands. He checked his face, neck, chest, stomach, and legs, but felt no pain other than the agony from his hangover. There was no blood or anything on his hands either. Well, if he woke up in his bed like this, he couldn't have been shot. Eugene laughed dryly. Then the next moment, he frowned again.

How did I get back home anyway?

Blonde Valentine. Gun. Murder. Corpse. Blood. Lollipop.

He tried to recall last night's memories again, but there was no conclusion anywhere in those memories. How he escaped from the killer's hands, how he returned home. It was as if his memory had completely vanished.

Could the killer have erased his memory? Eugene briefly suspected this but soon shook his head. No, it was probably due to excessive drinking. Whenever alcohol sloshed through his veins instead of blood, the film always seemed to break.

Eugene's last memory was of the gun barrel pointed at his forehead, Valentine's blonde hair that shone brilliantly even in the dark, filthy back alley, those piercing blue eyes staring directly at him, and Valentine pointing at his own crotch.

If the film was going to break, it should have broken from the beginning....

Eugene sighed heavily while rubbing his face dry. Then he touched his lips with his fingertips.

Perhaps he was still alive because he had obediently done what this Valentine person had told him to do. In other words, it meant he had sucked the man's thing and was released.

No. Maybe he was joking. Maybe he just let me go.

While thinking optimistically for a moment, Eugene frowned with a grimace. A sharp pain was felt where his fingertip touched the corner of his mouth. He touched it again and found that one corner of his mouth was slightly torn.

"......"

Eugene stopped being optimistic and removed his hand from his mouth.

The inside of his mouth felt unbearably stale. As if he had held something dirty in his mouth....

Eugene immediately ran to the bathroom. He squeezed a generous amount of toothpaste and began brushing frantically. In the mirror, he saw himself brushing his teeth and gums as if he wanted to grind them all away, with bloodshot eyes. Was it just his imagination that his lips looked unusually red today? Eugene deliberately took his eyes off the mirror and concentrated on brushing.

After brushing until his gums were about to become raw, Eugene immediately threw off his clothes and turned on the shower. And like his toothbrushing just now, he scrubbed his entire body vigorously. The terrible headache that had felt like being hit with a hammer had completely disappeared by now. All that remained was the memory of the previous night and a twisted, burning stomach.

After showering with hot water, his mind became much clearer. Eugene took a few sips of orange juice from the refrigerator and immediately searched through his clothes. He put his hands in each pants pocket, but his wallet was missing. He searched the bed and scoured the room thoroughly, but the result was the same. There were two possibilities. Either he dropped it somewhere while drunk, or the killer had it. If it was the latter, it wasn't because the killer wanted the small amount of cash in the wallet, but to secure his ID.

The killer now had his identity and address.

Eugene immediately put on his socks, pants, and shirt. He didn't know why he was spared last night, but if the killer changed his mind, he could come here to silence him anytime. Just for a few days... no, he needed to move away permanently.

Eugene, wearing clothes hastily, knelt beside the bed. As he poked his head under the bed, a cat that had been sleeping curled up slightly opened one eye. Eugene pulled out the chubby cat. Angel resisted by digging his claws into the carpet, but Eugene ignored this and pulled him out by the scruff of his neck.

In a situation where there was no time to pack clothes or family photos, there was just one thing he had to take with him—the fat cat.

Hya-ak-!

Angel let out a sharp sound, disturbed from his nap. Eugene ignored it and looked around for a bag to put Angel in. There was a cat carrier he had bought a few months ago, but it was too small for Angel, who had gained weight rapidly. In the end, Eugene hurriedly put Angel into a large sports bag as a temporary measure. But before he could fully zip it up, Angel jumped out and hid under the bed.

"Angel!"

Eugene urgently called out and lay down beside the bed. Angel was crouched in the corner with his eyes wide open. He was highly alert due to the unusual atmosphere and behavior. Eugene tried to control his voice and called softly, "Angel." But this cautious and sensitive creature remained stuck in the corner, not moving.

"Ha...."

Eugene finally collapsed on the floor with his back against the bed, breathing heavily in frustration. Then he thought calmly.

Even if he ran away like this, as long as the killer knew his identity, the danger remained. If he requested protection from the police, he would be asked to appear as a witness and testify. Recalling yesterday's memory, the blonde killer was clearly a hitman hired by the mafia. The mafia never leaves witnesses who testify against their crimes alive. And if he testified and then entered the witness protection program, he would have to abandon everything he had built up in his life and live alone as a completely new person. How was that any different from death?

What a bolt from the blue in a life that was going well.

Eugene frowned and pressed his fingers against his eyes. They felt dry, as if all the moisture had evaporated. How wonderful it would be if all this were just a nightmare he had while drunk.

Meow.