Chapter 2

Once summer began, the temperature began to rise steadily.

Unlike the noisy city, the tranquil neighborhood lacked the persistent clamor of urban life. The only disturbance was the occasional sound of trains crossing distant bridges, their brief whistles echoing across the quiet streets.

Caleb had never been fond of summer. The blinding sunlight and sticky sweat were detestable to him, and he rarely engaged in outdoor activities under the scorching sun. Even the inmates at the prison joked that his pale skin made him look nothing like a correctional officer.

However, Caleb found himself unexpectedly reassessing his opinion of the season this summer.

It wasn't due to any profound reason—it was simply because the hotter it got, the more revealing his neighbor's clothing became.

Normally, when the man came home from work, he would immediately change into unremarkable loungewear. The loose-fitting white T-shirt he usually wore concealed his impressive physique, making Caleb's covert observations less interesting.

But recently, as the weather warmed up, the man started moving around his house shirtless.

On one occasion, Caleb even witnessed his neighbor cooking steak completely bare-chested, his top half covered with only an apron. If Caleb hadn't considered himself a voyeur with boundaries, he might have taken out his phone to secretly capture this provocative scene.

This routine of mundane spying was expected to continue indefinitely. But as Caleb drove home from work one day, he noticed something unusual about his neighbor.

Southern Prison, where Caleb worked, was located in the suburbs, only a ten-minute drive from his neighborhood. He finished work promptly at five in the evening every day, while his elite neighbor typically arrived home at around nine or ten at night.

Today, Caleb parked his car in the private garage as usual after arriving home. As soon as he got out, he heard boxing sounds that were more intense than before coming from across the street.

Caleb thought he might have misheard, so he went up to his bedroom on the second floor to peek through the window.

Sure enough, his neighbor was indeed boxing.

This was unusual, because it was a weekday.

Even more unusual was that the man wasn't wearing his usual white bandages and was striking the swinging heavy bag with forceful blows. He didn't look like he was practicing, but seemingly venting his frustrations.

His expression was different from usual—his brows were furrowed in a grimace, and his gaze was not fixed on the heavy bag but rather on a distant point ahead. It was as if he were boxing while contemplating something.

Caleb thought to himself that whatever it was, it probably wasn't good.

His neighbor's frustration was evident, and Caleb found himself involuntarily speculating about what might have happened. Perhaps he had lost his job, which would explain why he was boxing at home on a weekday afternoon. The reason for his job loss might be something scandalous, like sexual harassment...

Wait, why sexual harassment?

Just because someone was attractive didn't mean they were involved in inappropriate behavior.

Caleb took a step back and reconsidered the possible reasons an elite professional might lose their job. At that moment, the neighbor suddenly stopped his movements, placing his fists in front of his chest and examining them closely.

There seemed to be something on the man's knuckles that Caleb couldn't quite make out, so he pulled out his monocular telescope again. Focusing and magnifying the image, Caleb saw that there were small stains of blood on his neighbor's knuckles.

That wasn't surprising, given that the man wasn't wearing bandages. Punching so forcefully without protection would certainly cause some injury.

What followed was something that took Caleb by surprise.

The man stared at the bloodstains for a moment, then suddenly stuck out his tongue and licked his injured knuckles. The bizarre scene made Caleb's heart skip a beat, and he instinctively lowered the telescope. But less than a second later, he picked it up again to continue observing the man's actions.

The man's previous fierce expression had vanished, replaced by a calm, impassive demeanor. His anger seemed to have been entirely spent during his boxing session, leaving him with a blank expression.

Yet, Caleb could tell that the man was still deep in thought. This time, he seemed to be in a more composed state of reflection.

Caleb had always prided himself on being perceptive, but at that moment, he felt inexplicably unable to see through his neighbor's true nature. He thought about the most dangerous inmates he had encountered at the prison.

His neighbor's action of licking his own blood bore a disturbing resemblance to those inmates.

Caleb couldn't help but wonder—how many different faces did this man have?

That night, Caleb didn't touch his telescope again. He felt he needed a break. Otherwise, his curiosity about his neighbor might become overwhelming.

Caleb spent the evening watching television. News channels aired various reports about a major economic scandal that had captivated the nation. A short-selling firm was suspected of maliciously shorting dozens of stocks, illicitly gaining nearly one hundred million dollars.

The investigation was ongoing, and preliminary findings suggested the actions were those of individual employees, not the firm as a whole.

Cases like these emerged daily, so there were always new faces in the prison where Caleb worked.

Barely interested in the news, Caleb turned off the television. After reading a book for a while, he started getting ready for bed promptly at eleven. The watch on his bedside table was two minutes slow, a common flaw with old mechanical watches, which tended to lose accuracy over time.

It wasn't that Caleb couldn't afford a new watch. In fact, his salary from working at the prison was much better than that of a typical office worker. He simply couldn't bring himself to replace something passed down from his elders. After all, the watch was almost like a family heirloom.

Winding the watch was a task requiring patience. After much effort, just as he was about to finish, he heard a sudden, jarring noise from the watch's mechanism. In the next moment, the winding spring slipped from his hands.

Great, he had broken the spring.

After a moment's hesitation, Caleb decided it couldn't be that big of a problem and resolved to fix it himself.

Two hours later, he threw his phone, which he had been using to watch instructional videos, to the side. He stared in frustration at the scattered watch parts on the table. He had clearly overestimated himself. Some things were best left to professionals. He shouldn't have tried to repair the watch on a whim.

At past one in the morning, the streets outside were eerily silent.

Although Caleb was only twenty-seven, a young man by most standards, he generally lived a very health-conscious lifestyle and rarely stayed up late like this. Turning off the light, he lay down on his bed.

As he was about to fall asleep, he habitually pulled back the curtains to check on his neighbor across the street. The pale yellow building blended perfectly into the night, with only a solitary streetlamp casting a quiet glow.

Caleb let the curtain fall back into place. But for some reason, he felt an odd sense of unease about the image lingering in his mind. He pulled the curtain back again and, sure enough, saw a shadowy figure skulking around outside the small yard across the street.

The figure glanced around furtively before nimbly climbing over the medium-height iron fence.

Immediately, Caleb thought of the charge of "trespassing". He sat up straight, his eyes intently following the figure's every move in the darkness. The intruder first circled the house, then approached the side of the building. Using the drainpipe, they climbed up to the second floor.

The intruder was likely a thief.

Caleb made this quick assessment, but soon reconsidered because the figure used an unknown tool to pry open a window and slip into the bedroom.

A thief would not normally make such a blatant entry into a homeowner's bedroom—that would be the most dangerous place to search first. They would typically start in the downstairs living room.

The surroundings were so quiet that it felt as if nothing had happened. Caleb could only hear his own heart pounding.

He held his phone in hand, ready to call the police. However, he allowed a brief window of time before taking action. If his neighbor could detect the intruder and respond in time, he wouldn't need to reveal his own presence.

No voyeur would willingly make their presence known to the person they were spying on, and Caleb was no exception.

Yet, Caleb's situation was somewhat unique. Before being transferred to the prison, he had worked as a court recorder. Having witnessed countless trials, he had developed a distinct moral code.

If someone did something wrong, they must make amends.

For instance, having taken advantage of his neighbor for so long, Caleb felt obligated to assist when needed.

A few seconds passed, but the bedroom across the street remained in darkness. Caleb quickly called the police, though his nerves were still on edge.

If the figure wasn't a thief, who could they be?

Having encountered many murderers in prison, the word "killer" inevitably came to mind. Perhaps Caleb was overthinking it, but it wasn't entirely out of the question.

Despite the police station being just a short distance away, a minute was enough time to cause serious harm to a person. If the situation continued this way, it would be too dangerous. He had to find a way to alert his neighbor.

Caleb refrained from shouting. Given the fact that he didn't know the intruder's identity, he didn't want to draw the danger toward himself. He looked around and grabbed a pen from his desk. Aiming carefully, he threw it toward the bedroom window across the street.

However, the pen was too light and fell into the neighbor's yard with a soft thud.

Caleb needed something heavier. Rummaging through the desk drawer, he found an ink bottle. When he threw it, the ink bottle smashed against the wall next to the window, shattering with a loud crack. Ink splattered across the light-colored wall, creating a dark, blooming stain.

Regardless of whether he had woken his neighbor, Caleb knew this would definitely attract the intruder's attention. Without hesitation, he grabbed a bottle of cologne that his ex-boyfriend had given him from the drawer.

This time, the cologne bottle hit the bedroom window with precision. Within a second, the lights came on, and two silhouettes appeared behind the thin curtain—one crouching with a tense posture, the other getting out of bed and launching a swift kick.

Caleb leaned against the window frame, his eyes locked on the scene across the street.

In the pitch-black night, the scene played out like an open-air movie. The light illuminated the rectangular curtain, showcasing an intense fight between the two figures.

If Caleb had to choose, his neighbor seemed to be getting the upper hand. His punches were precise and ruthless, each one landing with devastating force.

Caleb had some knowledge of martial arts, and the intensity of his neighbor's strikes was such that, in an international competition, they would likely be deemed excessive and result in a penalty.

The outcome was clear within moments.

Meanwhile, a police car arrived in the distance. With the situation under control, Caleb let out a sigh of relief and pulled his curtains back into place.

Just then, he heard a loud crash.

Curiosity got the better of him, so he peeked through a corner of the curtain. He saw that the bedroom window across the street had been shattered. The intruder lay painfully on the cement floor below, surrounded by shards of broken glass. Meanwhile, Caleb's neighbor was looking down with a cold, detached expression.

Caleb found it odd. The intruder was clearly incapacitated. If he had fallen from the second floor, it would imply an attempt to escape.

But in that case, the window shouldn't have shattered.

He considered another possibility—his neighbor had deliberately thrown the intruder from the upper floor. His neighbor's indifferent demeanor suggested that he might not care at all about the intruder's fate.

Recalling the image of the man licking his wounds, Caleb suddenly felt that his neighbor might be even more dangerous than he had initially thought.

At that moment, the man across the street seemed to suddenly realize that someone had given him a warning. Standing by the window, he suddenly looked up. His hawk-like stare shot directly in Caleb's direction, filled with intense scrutiny and a sharp edge of vigilance.

Caleb's heart skipped a beat. He quickly pulled back the curtain and retreated into the shadows.